Seeking Ginny
by Casca
Summary: For years Ginny Weasley has tried to stop her feelings for Harry Potter. She's even uprooted her life. But what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again?
1. Prologue

Title: "Seeking Ginny" Author: Casca 

**Rating:** PG-13

**Spoilers:** Through Goblet

**Classification: **Post-Hogwarts H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years Ginny Weasley has tried to bring an end to her feelings for Harry Potter … she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**September 2005 Author's Note:**

Hellloooo everyone:) Since reading Half-Blood Prince, I've come to a rather strange standpoint regarding Seeking Ginny. While rereading this fic, several things have come to my attention and I shall list them for you, my faithful, wonderful, _loyal_ readers.

**Thought/Realization #1**: I have (for the most part) no problem continuing Harry and Ginny's story as was planned in Seeking Ginny. Perhaps it's because I love the story so much and put so much of my heart and soul into writing it, that I cannot – without on some level breaking my heart—leave it incomplete. So Seeking Ginny will be told as I have planned it… with some moderate changes. (See Thought/Realization #2 )

**Thought/Realization #2:** Characterization is the most important thing to me. (That isn't new, it's always been). But Ginny is now different than my orginal perception of her. Harry is, too. The Ginny that I started writing two and half years ago is most certainly _not_ the Ginny Weasley from HBP… from canon. So I have decided to go back in and change a few things regarding Ginny's character… and a little bit with Harry's as well. NO PLOT WILL CHANGE. THE CHAPTERS WILL HAVE VIRTUALLY THE SAME CONTENT. But in every chapter, you will see Ginny reacting a little differently as I try to align her with canon Ginny. You will also see (hopefully) some grammar and sentence structure changing a bit to make it more solid sounding.

Sound insane? Want to scream at me that the fic is already AU, why don't you just leave it the hell alone and finish it? Well, a) I like to torture myself and, b) it makes me more uncomfortable to write something out of character than it does to write a non-canon plot. Because a) all fanfic is a non-canon plot anyway, and b) trying to get the characters as close to canon as possible is something I believe so strongly in that I cannot simply finish this fic if I didn't adhere to our new, wonderful, hilarious, brilliant, outgoing, more-than-Harry-worthy Ginny.

I am going to take down all the chapters and update them as I make corrections. HOWEVER, to avoid hate mail, all the original chapters will remain up at and Fictionalley. So if you need a fix of another chapter, go there. Also, it will not be months between the chapter updating process, so you may read them as they come out if you like…in fact, I would request that you did. :)

So… with me? Hate me? Sorry for putting you all through this and sorry for not mentioning it sooner, I didn't want the hate mail. ;) Just realize that it's my wish to make the story a little bit better, a little bit more realistic… even though it officially _is_ an Alternate Universe now. :)

**A/N: This chapter has been revised as of September 2005. **

**Prologue** Summer after Ginny's seventh year 

It was a Saturday afternoon and the Weasleys were scattered around the garden of the Burrow enjoying the warm summer weather. Ginny Weasley lounged on the garden swing, her blue jeans rolled up to the knee, her mind idly thinking of how lazy she'd become in the past month. The prospect of not having to go back to school in September—or forever—was something that felt very lovely some days… mostly the days when she remembered homework and exams and the horror of her N.E.W.Ts, anyway. Kicking her bare foot on ground, she sent the swing in motion and rested her head back on the pillow she'd Summoned from her bedroom a little while ago.

The swing was sitting on the thick lawn, and in the shade of a very tall, very green tree. The tree was slightly apart from the actual garden and, therefore, slightly apart from the actual people, but Ginny didn't mind it at the moment. Though she usually loved being in the middle of the action, there were times like now when she enjoyed her solitude. She supposed that was a result from being in such a large family, not to mention the fact that virtually the entire family consisted of loud and obnoxious _brothers_.

Her eyes fell on the loudest and most obnoxious in the whole lot, both of whom were sitting at the picnic table, directly across from one another, with a huge bowl of fruit. Their wands were out and every so often, Fred would examine a piece of fruit very closely and mutter something to George who nodded knowingly. Ginny rolled her eyes, thinking it wouldn't be long before something inhumane happened to the unsuspecting fruit.

Mum was probably thinking the same thing, she noted, as her mother's eyes narrowed when they landed on the twins. They didn't stay narrowed for long, however, when they took note of Dad who was currently standing puzzled in front of a Muggle barbecue, banging his wand against the grate and shouting some complicated curse. At this, Mum's eyes flashed as she fingered her own wand nervously, no doubt expecting a fire to break out. Between her twin sons and her husband, Mum's suspicions were probably right on the mark; there would most certainly be a fire today. The only question was: who would start it?

Fred and George were the obvious candidates, but Ginny wasn't too eager to suspect them—they, at least, had taken to only blowing things up in their lab at the shop. Yes, she'd place her Sickles on Dad. It was long overdue; he hadn't started a fire in ages—well strike that, the new car he'd been tinkering with hadn't done too well. The leftover parts were still burnt to a crisp in the shed.

And so was the everyday thrill of being a Weasley, she thought wryly.

"Ouch! Molly, look, I've burned myself on the barbelcue."

As if to refute her thought, Dad held out his hand and grinned excitedly at Mum, then rushed over to show Ron and Hermione, who were sitting under the willow together. Hermione grinned and said something that sounded like, "That's a bad burn, Mr. Weasley," which was exactly the thing to make him puff up with pride. Ginny thought her father was the only person in the world who would be excited about burning their hand just because it happened the Muggle way. She was quite certain (and rather proud) that there would never be another.

Rolling her eyes yet again, Ginny turned back to Fred and George and grinned as a green apple suddenly bounced into the air, sprouted white fur and rabbit ears, and began hopping all around the table.

Ginny laughed…and one other person in the yard did the same. Her smiled became fixed and she snapped her eyes away from the fruit, turning her head to gaze back at the house. She refused to look at the source of the laugh; she'd been successfully _not_ watching him today, using no tricks like putting herself in a different room or doing some sort of task. It worked because she'd be damned if she didn't have at least some control over the situation. Besides, she knew what she would find if she did look his way and she wasn't in the mood for self-pity or self-torture or any sort of ill-treatment of herself. Save it for another day.

There was a burst of laughter coming from Harry's corner as though his own laugh had caused Ron, Hermione, and the other one to look over at Fred and George, and the loudest and happiest of all the laughs made Ginny's back go up. She felt an inch of her temper flaring and she drummed her fingers on her knee. Then, with perfectly calmness, as though she wasn't about to _retch_, she reached down for the magazine that she had finished ten minutes ago and opened it. A pretty witch holding up a new brand of Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover smiled an unnaturally large smile as she demonstrated how to use the product. Ginny wrinkled her nose, thinking – as she had the first time she'd seen the add—what a likeness that large, overly happy smile was to _hers_.

She felt the pull on her eyes to look at her and compare the two smiles – she would obviously be smiling now, it would be rather easy. But Ginny didn't. Keeping her eyes quite level with her magazine, she flipped the page idly.

Her name was Rebecca Stephens and she had every reason in the world to smile. She was a pretty witch, and Ginny knew that was petty reason to add to her long list of grievances about the girl, but …well, suffice it to say, Rebecca's face was freckle-free. She had dark hair and light eyes that crinkled in the corners when she smiled. Her cheeks were rosy and her mouth was always curved in a grin. She laughed a lot, something that Ginny was pained to admit had a brilliant effect on Harry.

She wasn't dazzling, Ginny thought to herself, chewing on her bottom lip too hard and wincing before letting go. No, she wasn't dazzling at _all_. She even had a funny nose if you wanted to nitpick and Ginny had. Oh, yes, she'd looked at her plenty of times. Indeed, she could probably devote the rest of her life to thinking up new ways to watch them inconspicuously.

Those were the times when Ginny truly questioned her sanity—was it that she _liked_ to torture herself? It was an active choice to watch them together, she could control the urge, she could simply distract herself by finding a new hobby or a new boyfriend. But no. She wasn't going to do that anymore. She was through with pretenses—at least, the pretenses she had with herself.

And so, her eyes constantly followed them and watched them and memorized them; she went over every detail about them inside her head and her ears opened whenever Ron mentioned them. Ginny didn't understand why she needed to know _everything_ about them—the more Ginny saw of how truly happy Harry was with Rebecca, the more Ginny hurt—but she craved them nonetheless.

But she would _not_ go there today. Today was not supposed to include Ginny Weasley's Pity Session Because Harry Potter Doesn't _Like_ Her. There was plenty of that to go around on other days.

She turned her wrist to look at her watch, noting that her best friend, Sarah Murphy would be five minutes late in only one minute. Sarah had been her savior through all of this; every time Harry Aparated into the Burrow with Rebecca by his side, almost automatically, (and trying not to make silent retching motions behind their backs) Ginny headed for the fireplace to floo to Sarah's house (where she could comfortably make loud retching noises while telling Sarah why she'd come).

Against her better judgment, Ginny flicked a glance to Harry and she found, as always, that looking at him was usually more brilliant than painful. He wasn't doing anything special—just sitting with Rebecca and listening to Ron. She took in his appearance like she always did, felt her heart pound and her body react. It seemed as though the physical attraction got stronger every day that passed; every week, every month and every year he looked older, more mature, more handsome, more like a man. She curled her toes into the cushions of the swing, hating the sharp stab of need that pulsated through her.

The air surrounding her was suddenly thick with the sexual tension that she was creating all by herself and Ginny dragged her eyes from him, occurring to her now, as it so often did, how dangerous her feelings for Harry were. She was quite sure that her eyes often devoured him with an intensity that anyone would recognize should they so happen to look over. Sometimes it felt as though she wore her heart right on her sleeve for everyone to see—including him. And then other times, when she actually spoke to him, she could swear he was more dense than he'd ever been.

Ginny gave a dry laugh. He would always leave her guessing, wouldn't he?

Furious with herself, Ginny kicked her foot at the ground again, sending the swing in a rapid motion and thought that she might Summon from her bedroom a Muggle novel Dad had bought her. But that wouldn't be a distraction, not when she was sitting in the same vicinity as him. She could go inside—her room desperately needed a cleaning. But at that thought, she felt a flash of temper again. She didn't want to _leave_ the yard, her entire family was out here and dinner would be ready soon and Fred and George were probably going to turn the entire bowl of fruit into some sort of puppet show and she'd be bloody _damned_ if she'd miss it.

She was sick of missing things because of him.

Her last year at Hogwarts came into her mind then and as the bitterness crept up inside her, Ginny tried not to think about what a horrible year that had been for her. She'd hated leaving her family behind after the war had ended and knowing that Harry was back here — with her. She hadn't been prepared for the blow to her heart when she'd picked up some celebrity magazine to a photo of Harry on the cover walking in London and looking absolutely relaxed…with Rebecca. It had seemed suddenly that Harry was everywhere—in the newspapers, in conversations she overheard about the war, in the letters her family wrote to her, in the letters _he_ wrote to her—some of the most indifferent letters she'd ever received in her entire life. Ginny had felt like she was relentlessly being reminded that she wasn't a part of his life… at least, not an important one.

She'd always been so _careful_ not to burden him with her feelings, but really, what had that done in the end? Nothing. She was still sitting apart from him, only now there was somebody else at his side.

She should have told him. She shouldn't have let it go during the war when Harry had actually thought of her as a friend. She should have been forward with him and told him that she would still be there for him if he didn't feel the same way. Perhaps it would have caused him to open his eyes a bit towards her… perhaps he may have even begun to feel… something….

Perhaps it had been a mistake, keeping her feelings to herself, but her only blind concern at that time had been for Harry, of making sure that he was okay and that he didn't have anything else to worry over. Ginny had always thought that she was doing something right by not troubling him with her feelings, but now she felt the regret like a blow to her heart. She shouldn't have been so presumptuous to think that there would be time for them after everything was over. She should never have been so hopeful to think that she could help him find his peace when times weren't so dark for him.

It just hadn't occurred to her that he would find it with someone else

Harry was laughing. When Ginny looked at him, she felt a resentment of such magnitude that she tore her eyes away and stood for the house. Admitting that she'd lost yet another battle where he was concerned, Ginny stepped into the kitchen and walked towards the sink. Perhaps cleaning the pile of dishes would help her to lose the image of Harry laughing out there …with _her_.

Stupid, smiling, laughing, happy _her_.

Ginny gave a weary laugh that had no traces of humor in it whatsoever. She was just so tired of feeling like this. It made her feel, above all, pathetic and she was so ashamed of herself that she could hardly breathe sometimes.

The sound of the kitchen door opening, and then slamming nearly had Ginny jumping out of her skin. She hastily picked up her wand and focused on washing the dishes and keeping her face void of any expression as Fred and George piled into the kitchen.

"I'm bloody starving already, d'you think he'll ever get it to work?" George demanded of Fred, who was carrying the bowl of charmed fruit all of which were desperately trying to jump out of the bowl.

"Why did Mum let him use it the first place? She knows he tampered with it."

"What's the matter?" George asked and Ginny realized after a moment's silence that he was speaking to her. She barely had time to respond when Fred grabbed her from behind and held her in a headlock.

"What's wrong with our ickle Ginny? Sad you can't see your little friends at school anymore?"

Ginny ducked out of his grasp with practiced ease and tried to shove him away. If he hadn't been so much bigger than she was, she might have succeeded. "You know, I thought getting older would tame you two, but I suppose it only makes you more annoying."

Fred looked outraged. "Ginevra Weasley, I am irate that you would even _dare_--"

"Awe, leave her alone, Fred," George said in a serious tone that had Ginny rolling her eyes. "She's in an awful state, our Ginny. She's lost Harry to Rebecca and now her life is worthless."

Ginny's hands froze. It was the very last thing she needed just then and she opened her mouth to tell them both to sod off, but Fred spoke loudly.

"It is so very tragic. Don't look now, Ginny, Harry's just kissed her!"

"Don't Fred, you'll make her cry! Besides you're way prettier than she is, don't worry, Gin."

To her absolute horror, Ginny's eyes filled with tears. It took her by surprise and it happened so suddenly that she didn't have time to blink them away. Fred glanced at her and when he saw her face, his grin rapidly disappeared. "Ginny."

George looked over and his eyes widened, but Ginny shook her head and held up a hand. She couldn't even get angry with them.

"Leave me alone," she muttered and left the kitchen.

Ginny closed the door to her bedroom and stood in front of her chest of drawers, looking up to find her own reflection in the mirror. Pulling her wavy mass of hair behind her shoulders, Ginny leaned close to the mirror and stared very intently at her face. After a minute, she let out a long, steadying breath and began to nod. She was going to be okay.…

Whatever Harry saw or failed to see, she knew she was still herself.

From her window, she heard a loud booming noise followed by bursts of laughter and she peered out to see what the commotion was. Her father had his wand out and was putting out the fire, which had started on top of the grill. Mum had her own wand pointed at Dad and must have been threatening to curse him as everyone laughed and watched the scene from a distance. Ginny's lips quirked—but then her smile faded very quickly when he saw Harry, in the middle of everything.

This is wrong, she thought, staring at him and automatically feeling the pull—the same physical, emotional yank on her body and her heart. It was traitorous and it was cruel that she could still feel such a strong pull towards him when he was so blind towards, and so unconcerned about her.

On a sudden thought, Ginny turned away from the window and practically dashed over to her trunk across the tiny bedroom. She rummaged through her old schoolbooks, stacks of parchment, dried up quills and empty inkbottles until she found what she was looking for. Clutching it in her hands, she climbed onto her bed.

It was a catalog, one she'd picked up from Hogwarts library, upon one of her professor's suggestion. Its contents were of a school in Paris, L'Academie d'Aubervive, which taught a subject matter that had always intrigued her: the languages of the wizarding world. Ginny flipped through the pages quickly, finding the one she wanted. It contained a photograph of the school itself. Situated in the middle of magical Paris, it was breathtaking—a large chateau made of pale gray stone with blue roofs and arched windows. Students dressed in rather stylish looking robes mingled and laughed while they walked to and from the school, sat beside a massive fountain, spread out across the vast lawns and gardens. The place itself was captivating and as she had when she'd first seen the catalog back at Hogwarts, Ginny saw herself in the middle of it all—laughing with the people, sitting round that glorious fountain, focusing on learning something that she took an interest in.

And she would be far away from Harry.

Just then, there was a small knock on her bedroom door and Sarah Murphy peeked inside.

"There you are. Your family's wondering where you've got to," she said, stepping inside the room and closing the door. "Your dad's set the grill on fire and your mum is cooking in the kitchen now. She looks like she's ready to start hexing him—what's wrong?"

Ginny reached out and handed Sarah the catalog.

Sarah sat down on the bed. "The school in Paris? I thought you'd decided—"

"Do you know why I decided not to go?" Ginny asked, looking her friend in the eye.

Sarah bit her lip and considered Ginny. "I have a pretty good idea."

"Because I didn't want to leave Harry. He's with someone else, and I wanted to stay here in case he breaks up with her. It's a five-year program—and I can't imagine being away from him for so long. Do you realize how pathetic that sounds, Sarah?"

Sarah blew out a breath and tucked her shoulder length brown hair behind her ears. "Not _pathetic_…exactly …"

Ginny shook her head and pushed off from the bed restlessly to stand by the window. She watched as everyone walked towards the kitchen door, as Harry tugged Rebecca's hand playfully. "I have to get away from him, Sarah," she said softly.

"Ginny," Sarah began hesitantly. "I think it's so cool that you want to do this. I really do. But don't do it just to get away from Harry. You need to get over him."

"Sarah," Ginny said forcibly, turning to look at her. "I can't get over him when I'm around him so much. I've been trying to do it for years."

"Ginny, don't you realize that he'll never truly be out of your life? I mean… he and Ron won't stop being friends. He's practically a member of your family—"

"Yes, I know. And everyone has a fantastic part in his life. Except _me_," she snapped angrily, her eyes hard when they landed on him, just before he disappeared out of view. "I've barely spoken to him all summer, Sarah. We're not even _friends_ anymore, it's a bloody farce! There is nothing more between us now—I'm his best friend's sister and that's _all _I am. And I cannot keep pretending that it's going to change! I'm ruining my own life, stopping _everything_, for _him_. It has to end."

Sarah heaved a sigh. "Ginny, I can't imagine what it's like for you. But you can't run away from him. Sooner or later you're going to have to face it."

Ginny's voice was hard as she stared blindly beyond the garden, towards the clearing, where they had all played Quidditch hundreds of times together. "Being away from him will help me get over him."

"You were away from him last year at Hogwarts," Sarah said tentatively, and Ginny shook her head impatiently.

"Hogwarts was different. A part of me thought that Rebecca was just a stupid fling that he would get over while I was there. But we all know that if it was a fling it would have ended by now. Besides, Harry and I kept in touch while I was there. I was asking him how he was dealing with the war being over and he was telling me about the weather. It was only a reminder that I was nothing important to him—" she broke off as her voice broke and turned to look in the mirror. Her face was pale and tears were welling in her eyes and she hated the way it made her feel. "I have to cut all ties with him. I can't see him or be around him or speak to him or write to him. I have to forget about him."

Sarah took a deep breath, obviously contemplating whether ot not to keep on with her argument. "It just seems… it seems wrong somehow," she said finaly, locking eyes with Ginny.

Ginny felt panic rise in her throat and she grabbed Sarah's hands. "Please don't tell me it's the wrong thing to do, Sarah," she whispered, staring into her friend's wide blue-gray eyes. "Please… I can't stay here watching him, I feel like I'm about to – to _lose_ myself, I can't explain it— "

"Ginny, of course, you have my blessing," Sarah interrupted firmly. "I just… I just don't want to see you hurt later."

Ginny closed her eyes and nodded. "As long as your not… you know, angry at me, or anything."

"Of course, I'm not angry… I'm mad with jealousy, though."

"Sarah, why don't you come with?" Ginny asked, her eyes lighting up at the thought. "The school looks absolutely amazing and we would have the time of our lives together!"

But Sarah shook her head and said, "Sorry, it's just that… after Hogwarts, I don't want to be away from home anymore." She broke off and her eyes filled with tears. "But I'll miss you something terrible, Ginny."

"Oh, Sarah," Ginny said, throwing her arms around her. "We'll keep in touch all the time! Twice a week."

"Three times a week."

"And you can come to visit me! Oh, Sarah, we'll have such a wonderful time! Imagine—you and I in Paris!"

They both laughed and spent the rest of the afternoon in Ginny's bedroom talking about Paris, about when Sarah would find time to visit and how horrid it would be to Aparate there.

Since the war, the long distance Aparition laws had been modified; it was illegal to simply Aparate to different countries, and the legal process was very long and drawn out. Ginny would have to Aparate first to the new England Aparition Station to fill out several forms of paperwork, pay a great deal of gold, and be inspected by a line of Aurors. This process was once rumored to take fifty-seven to sixty hours, but that had been when the war had first ended and the Ministry had not employed the Aparition Stations accordingly. New reports said that the average time spent was currently only thirty-four and a half hours. The next step would be to Aparate to the France International Magical Aparition Station where Ginny would fill out more paperwork, pay more gold and be inspected by another group of Aurors. The length of this process was unknown since the Daily Prophet did not cover other countries' systems, although it was rumored that the Spain Apparition Station was so sparse in employment that the current wait time for travelers was over five days.

A short while after Sarah left claiming starvation because Ginny refused to go down to dinner with the entire family, and when Ginny knew that Harry was no longer there, Ginny went into the kitchen and fixed herself some dinner. She thought with a humorless laugh that it was a good idea to get away if only for her health as she'd missed so many lunches and dinners since she'd been home to avoid seeing Harry with … _her_.

Stupid, smiling, laughing, happy, pug-nosed….

Ginny bit her lip on a smile as she piled her plate high with food, insulting Rebecca in her mind, knowing it was childish and not caring.

She flipped through the catalog of L'Acadèmie d'Aubervive while she ate and her excitement began to build. She was grateful that her wonderful saving habits over the years gave her a nice chunk of gold stashed in the bottom drawer of her chest. Her savings would come in handy for traveling; however, she would probably need to get a job in Paris to continue to pay for school and be able to actually eat. But Ginny didn't care if she had to live off of bread and water or even sleep in some tiny dormitory—every time she looked at the photographs in the book, she was filled with anticipation to just be there.

A short time later, while the breeze through the open windows became cooler and the sky turned dark, Ginny sat at the table, thoroughly engrossed in reading her catalog. Everyone had either gone to bed or left and she enjoyed the quiet peace of the house without any activity. And then the back door opened.

She didn't need to look up to know it was Harry.

"Hey, Ginny," he said, noting her in surprise.

Ginny managed a smile. "Hey."

"Where have you been all day?" he asked, stepping into the room. "I didn't see you at dinner, did I?"

"Erm… no, I wasn't hungry," she said, feeling the resentment build up at his casual interest. Suppose she told him she'd been crying in her room because she was in love with him—that'd certainly wipe the carefree smile off his face.

"I feel like I haven't seen you all summer. What have you been up to?" Harry asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from her.

Ginny shook her head. "Nothing much…. I thought you'd left, were you outside?"

"No. I Aparated Rebecca home, but I'm staying here tonight," said Harry, grabbing an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. He nodded towards her catalog. "What's that?"

"Hmm? Oh…" she closed the booklet and flipped it over, finally sliding it to him. She watched as he picked it up and read the title, as his eyes skimmed down to the picture of the school. He looked up at her in surprise.

"You're thinking about going here?"

Her throat went dry and she nodded, unable to speak. Without a word, Harry flipped through the booklet, taking in the pictures and reading some of the captions. Ginny watched him intently for some sign of sadness over the possibility of her leaving.

"I am going there," she blurted. "I decided today actually."

"Wow, that's—that's so cool! Does that mean you'll be able to speak Troll?" he asked with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"Among other things," she said, smiling in spite of herself.

"Gobbledygook," he said with a lopsided grin.

Ginny grinned back, but wanted to weep. "Mermish."

Harry pointed his finger at her and tried to look stern despite his huge smile. "If you ever speak Mermish to me, I'll have to throw something at you."

Ginny laughed—she couldn't help it. And she was overcome with a powerful ache behind her chest. How could she leave him…?

"How long will you be there?" Harry was asking, still flipping through.

She swallowed and watched his face, his eyes closely. "It's a five year program."

Harry looked up at her. "You're kidding! Wow…."

_Ask me not go_, she begged silently.

"Five years is a bloody long time, isn't it? Who will keep Fred and George in line while you're gone?"

"You will all just have to suffer through for five long years… or at least until Christmas. And anyway, you lot will forget all about me, anyway."

Harry gave her a scolding look. "Right, it's you who'll be forgetting everything. By the time you come home for Christmas, we won't even recognize you — you'll look like you came from Beauxbatons or something."

Ginny reached for her wand. "Take that back before you're sorry."

Harry grinned and opened his mouth to say something else when Ron entered the room.

"So you're back," he said sarcastically to Harry, quirking a brow. "Tuck Rebecca into bed all right?"

"Shut up," Harry retorted and threw his apple core at Ron. But the wide grin on Ron's face and Harry's smirk made Ginny so nauseous that she stood and bade them goodnight.

Although she wasn't the least bit tired, Ginny changed mechanically into her nightdress and climbed into bed, Ron's words to Harry echoing in her head. It was all she could handle before a feeling of anguish rose in her chest and her eyes filled with tears. She felt like the sobs had been trapped inside her all day and now she couldn't help but let them all out. Turning, Ginny cried helplessly into her pillow… and longed for the day when she would be far away from Harry….

Continue to Chapter One

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	2. Chapter One

Title: "Seeking Ginny" Author: Casca 

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts, H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N**: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! The story unfolds…

**A/N: This chapter has been revised as of September 2005.**

Chapter One  _Four and a half years later _

It was a spring morning in Paris when Ginny awoke early for the first time in nearly a month. After allowing her eyes to flutter open and look at the shimmering numbers floating over her bedside table, she groaned and flopped her head back onto her pillow. She was now faced with the knowledge that her Awakening Charm would begin making a horrid sort of noise in about twenty minutes. She was also faced with a choice: she could either close her eyes and grab the extra twenty minutes sleep - knowing full well she would be more drowsy in the end - or she could get out of bed now to get an early start.

It was a difficult decision.

The bright sunlight that was pouring through the open window next to her bed was very appealing and Ginny knew that once she set foot outside, she would want to take her time walking to school in her favorite weather, the sort that forced her to wear her light wool cloak and stop for a cup of warm chocolate before class. However, there was the comfort of her bed… and it was comfortable. Ginny hugged her pillow tightly, burrowing her face against the cool cotton. It was _truly _a difficult decision, she thought, as a fresh breeze came through the window, washing over her face. Ginny closed her eyes and nestled further… and decided an extra twenty minutes sleep couldn't do any harm at all.

But then—

_"OI!_ Wake up, will you! You've got school in an hour!" There was a loud THUD which could only be a fist pounding on her bedroom door and then—nothing.

Ginny's eyes flew open and she saw red. "Thanks!" she yelled throatily to her thick flat mate. Still exhausted and now moaning in torture, she tried to close her eyes and relax again, but her heart was pounding from the sudden disruption and she knew there was no hope. She flung her covers away, pulled herself into a sitting position and sat miserably in bed for a good five minutes, contemplating, as she always did, if the repercussions on her life would be particularly horrible if she were to perhaps… not go to her morning lesson today. But as always, she shook the thought from her mind and stumbled out of bed.

Trying desperately to untangle her ankles from the sheet, Ginny fumbled around her room, looking for her dressing gown, finding it, and shrugging it on as she stepped over heaps of clothes and reached for the door. Walking groggily into the parlor and passing what was definitely not her mess on the sideboard, Ginny pushed through the door to the tiny kitchen of her flat.

Seated at the table was a rugged looking wizard Ginny's own age with messy gold-brown hair, light blue eyes and a wide, dimpled grin aimed right at her. The wizard was Brian McGuire, her very platonic flat mate—british, a helpless flirt, and rather brilliant in the art of linguistics, Brian was not the sort of flat mate Ginny would have guessed she'd end up with up with in Paris… much less the sort of person she'd ever become friends with. But she had.

However, good friend that Brian was, Ginny would never understand his cheerfulness in the morning so, ignoring the grin and him, she went immediately to the coffee.

"Sleep well last night?" Brian quipped.

"Last night," Ginny said in a clipped tone, her voice cracking from sleep. "This morning on the other hand…"

Brian lifted a brow innocently and sipped his coffee. "Right, remind me to save your lazy arse from being late again. Correct me if I'm wrong—"

"_Shhh_," she muttered, wincing and drawing her knees up as she slid into a chair. He was so bloody loud in the morning. Ginny wasn't even awake enough to think, let alone listen to his voice, and as much as she wanted to retort that he only chose to remember to rouse her at the most inconvenient times, she didn't trust her throat to speak yet. She brought the steaming mug to her lips and as the warm liquid absorbed her, she wondered if in fact coffee had any magical ingredients hidden inside its grounds.

Ginny was thankful that Brian didn't speak for another ten minutes as he sat reading the Daily Prophet. She could see the wizarding Paris newspaper on the worktop, looking disheveled and underneath that, the one from Rome. She would also never understand why he bothered to read newspapers from all over Europe, yet he subscribed to them all. He even read the Muggle ones.

"Did you study for Mermish Composition?" he asked her after a short while, sipping from his own mug.

Ginny rubbed her eyes and found her voice. "Yes. I'm still going to fail, though. You?"

"I'll study this afternoon."

Ginny sighed a bit grumpily. "Why couldn't I have been in the night class? I'm the one who needs the extra day to study."

Brian, knowing her all too well, lifted a brow, his eyes moving steadily over the article he was reading. "You want me to answer that?"

"No," she pouted. "Because if you say it—"

"Say what?"

"That I leave everything to the last minute, including signing up for lessons, and that's why I never get good lesson times—"

"Then you'll throw the hot coffee at me," he supplied.

Her lips quirked. "Oh, yes. It will not be pretty, let me tell you."

He finally lifted his eyes from the newspaper and skimmed them over her face. "Can't be any worse than you look right now, love."

Ginny tried to look put-out but his completely straight face was about to make her giggle. "Fine. I'm going to get dressed and spare you from looking at me anymore than you have to."

"Thanks," he said gratefully and Ginny shook her head on a laugh as she left the room, her coffee in tow.

After dressing in jeans and a sweater, Ginny rummaged around her bedroom, shoving everything from quills, parchment, ink, and books into her bag and immerging from her room to find Brian now sitting on the sofa reading the comics and laughing to himself. Ginny shook her head and blew out an irritated breath. He'd probably sit there and read his stupid newspapers all day, forget to study and end up with an even better mark on the exam than her.

"Good luck on the exam, love."

"Thanks. Hey, Bri, this place is a mess. D'you think, maybe—"

He let out a bark of laughter at whatever he was reading and on a roll of her eyes, Ginny left the flat.

The distance to l'Acadèmie d'Aubervive was short and so familiar now that Ginny could probably walk there with a blindfold over her eyes. The university was situated at the very edge of wizarding Paris, Lacasse, atop huge lawns. Ginny hurried her steps along the wide cobblestone pathway as she approached, grinning at the wizard who had stopped to hold the gate open for her. A quick glance at her watch told her she was early, so she made her way through the crowds of students, under several stone archways and through the magnificent courtyard, finaly settling herself on a bench in front of la fontaine. Charmed to throw off heat in the winter, light up at night, and play soft accordion music twenty-four hours a day, the grand fountain in the middle of the courtyard was the center of life at L'Acadèmie d'Aubervive.

Ginny had only two lessons today, the first being Educating Trolls: Advanced. She enjoyed the subject as much as the next student, but it was difficult to learn because of the professor. A former Auror, Professor Andel was an abnormally large wizard (there was rumor going round the university that he was indeed half troll) with an abnormally loud voice. Ginny was rather used to him by now, since she'd had him as a professor before, but this time, Professor Andel insisted that his entire lesson be conducted in Troll, even though the subject was more about Troll history than the actual language.

"TODAY," boomed Professor Andel in Troll and the class jumped in unison. "WE ARE GOING TO BE CHOOSING NAMES FOR YOUR FINAL PROJECTS. THERE ARE TWENTY NAMES OF PROFESSIONALS WHO HAVE AGREED TO GIVE OUT INTERVIEWS TO THIS LESSON. THEY HAVE ALL WORKED WITH TRAINING SECURITY TROLLS IN SOME WAY, BE IT BY ACTUALLY TRAINING THEM OR RESEARCHING THE SUBJECT MATTER. _ACCIO!_"

The professor summoned a beret from his desk and handed it to the front row of students. "PASS IT AROUND AND TAKE ONE NAME. WHO DID YOU CHOSE, MR. GRANT? AHH, STUART FRAGON, HE USED TO BE AN AUROR FOR THE MINISTRY, HE'LL BE A FASCINATING INTERVIEW. MISS MOLINGUE, YOU CHOSE MONSIER JEAN-CLAUDE PERDIQUE—HE KNOWS HOW TO SPEAK THE LANGUAGE, SO YOU'RE INTERVIEW WILL BE ENTIRELY IN TROLL."

"GO ON, MISS WEASLEY, THAT'S IT, AHHHH, POSSIBLY THE MOST FAMOUS ON THE LIST, MADAME MILLICENT MARDEAX. ONE OF THE MOST BRILLIANT PEOPLE IN ALL OF FRANCE, NEARLY ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY AND STILL AN AUROR. QUITE VICIOUS SHE IS, YES. NEXT, GO ON, PARKER, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, PICK FROM THE HAT, NOW."

Ginny blinked, the professor's voice penetrating her eardrums, and tried to study the piece of paper which read: _Madame Millicent Mardeax—an Auror for France's Ministry for 157 years; she has worked with every type of magical beast, most famous for killing seven manticore in the space of four days, saving several small towns in Normandy from certain death and destruction during the first reign of the evil dark wizard, Lord Voldemort. She devoted nearly twenty years of her life to studying the moods, movements, thoughts and actions of many different types of Trolls. _

As usual, by the time Ginny walked out of Educating Trolls, her head was absolutely pounding. She would have left the grounds to pick up a dose of Headache Healing Solution at the Magical Remedies shop, but she didn't want to be late for Mermish Composition. Mermish was perhaps Ginny's best language; it came incredibly naturally to her for some reason and she'd received top marks in every Mermish language course she'd had. However, Mermish Composition was an entirely different story; the witch who taught the course was not only difficult but it seemed as though she looked for reasons to give low marks.

Needless to say, the exam in Mermish Composition was something straight out of Ginny's nightmares. She nearly jumped out of her skin when Madame Horne's timer went off signaling the end of the exam—it was a figurine of a mermaid, which floated in midair and screeched "time's up!" in terribly loud Mermish. Ginny watched in horror as her exam, along with everyone else's flew to Madame's desk a split second after the screeching. _I've failed_, she thought madly, staring blankly at Madame who looked on with satisfaction as everyone's parchment landed in a neat pile. Apparently, Ginny wasn't the only one who thought this; from across the room, a witch with whom she'd had a few classes over the years let out a gasp of horror that sounded suspiciously like 'Eeeeeyoooouuuu!'—meaning 'nooooooo!' in Mermish.

Ginny would have stayed in her seat all day, staring into space and thinking that she would have to get top marks on everything else in order to pass the subject, but she didn't want to give Madame the satisfaction. Indeed the witch, who reminded Ginny of a female version of Snape, looked sinisterly jovial, as the girl who had screamed was lead out of the room, being consoled by her friends. So shoving her text, _Eyek! Liiek! Twieeeaayeeey! —Advanced Mermish Language Companion_, into her bag, Ginny left the room, unable to help herself from locking an evil eye with Madame Horne.

After her lessons, she went to the small café where she worked part-time to retrieve the book she'd left there the night before and by the time she'd made it home, it was late afternoon. Ginny stepped back into her little flat, noting with a roll of her eyes that it looked even more messy than it had when she'd left that morning. She tossed her cloak on top of Brian's clutter on the sofa, kicked off her shoes and headed for her bedroom. However, a loud squawk at the open window made her turn; her owl, Maurice, was perched atop the windowsill, rolling his huge gray eyes pointedly towards a letter on the sideboard.

"Hi, there, handsome." Ginny went over to him and placed a loud kiss on top of his soft, feathered head. "What have you got for me today?" She picked up the letter. "From Hermione? I haven't heard from her in a while…"

Absentmindedly, she placed it atop the pile of letters stacked up; there was one from Fred and another from Bill that she hadn't made the time to open yet, however, Ginny felt a twinge of guilt when she saw Sarah's familiar handwriting in pink ink on an envelope that had been sitting there for about two weeks. Ginny bit her lip.

"I can't answer these letters, just now, I truly can't," she said to Maurice. "Not when the flat looks the way it does and I haven't even started my Elvish composition yet. Homework should come first shouldn't it?"

Maurice hooted and Ginny bent down to peer into his eyes. "Was that a yes or a no?" Another hoot. Ginny sighed. "I wish you could speak English. Or French… or Mermish, or any other language I can understand. All right, since there's no hope in that, why don't you give me a sign? _Hoo hoo _means yes, and _squawk_ means no, okay? Should I clean the flat?"

Maurice hooted.

"But shouldn't I start writing my composition?"

Another hoot.

Ginny couldn't help but laugh. "You are never any help, do you know that? You're almost as bad as Brian—" She yawned then and felt a pull of fatigue on her body. "Perhaps I won't do any of it, and just go to sleep. I was awake until three in the morning studying for Mermish, did you know that?"

Maurice squawked and turned his head upside down to peer at her.

Ginny stood in the middle of the flat for a good five minutes, chewing on her bottom lip and trying to decided what to do. It would be just terrible of her to go to sleep when she had so many things she needed to do, but suddenly she felt like she couldn't stand up. She hadn't been getting much sleep lately what with her lessons doubling up on workload; it was always bad towards the end of term, however, since this was her last term, she'd never had more to do. It was nearly impossible to keep up with her correspondence; she was used to owling her mum and Sarah three to four times a week, now she barely found the time to read the letters, let alone write back.

It was quite simple to ignore the clutter sprawled across the sofa, Ginny discovered, when the soft cushions seemed to beckon her and her eyelids started drooping without any preamble whatsoever. Ignoring Brian's shirt and her cloak, Ginny plopped down onto the green plush cushions, winced in pain before pulling out the book she'd sat on, and laid her head back against her orange pillows. _Just a few minutes_, she said to herself as her eyes slid shut. _Just a few minutes and then I'll write to Sarah_….

"Oi! I've got dinner!" _SLAM!_

Ginny sat bolt upright as the sound of the door slamming echoed in her head a hundred times louder than it was. She looked around in confusion for a few minutes, then peered at Brian above the low wall that separated the parlor and kitchen. He set a huge paper bag down on the kitchen table and began opening cabinets, pulling out plates and glasses.

"What time is it?" Ginny croaked, fumbling for her watch before realizing it was on her wrist.

"Eight o'clock," Brian said cheerfully. "I finished the exam an hour early. Come on, I've got tons of food."

Ginny stared at him in shock, not sure which to demand first; how it could be eight o'clock, why he was making so much noise or how in bloody hell he'd finished his exam an hour early. She didn't get the chance; Brian was peering at her and shaking his head in amazement. "Tell me you've been asleep since you got home."

"I've been asleep since I got home," she muttered, tossing aside his shirt, which she must have pulled around her for covers, and getting up.

"You're the only person I know who has the sleeping habits of an owl."

Maurice squawked loudly from the desk in the living room and Ginny reached out a hand to stroke him as she padded into the kitchen. "I had to stop at the café to pick up the book I left there," she said, peering into the bag and humming with pleasure at the wonderful aroma of cheese and freshly baked bread. Then she remembered something.

"Wait a minute—did you say that you've finished the exam an hour early?"

Brian grinned. "Yes, and don't you feel stupid for being so worried? It turned out to be so easy!"

Ginny swore. "Easy? EASY? It was a bloody nightmare!" She dipped her finger into the cheese spread and said thickly, her mouth full of food, "Did we sit the same exam?"

"Come off it. Thirty multiple choice—if all exams could be like that…"

Ginny dropped a huge slab of bread. "Multiple choice? Multiple _choice_?"

Brian stared… then let out a crack of laughter. "Don't tell me… your exam consisted of ten essays—"

"Twelve essays," Ginny muttered disbelievingly. "I don't _believe _it! Different exams again!" It was Madame Horne's specialty. "That ugly, horrid _cow_!"

Brian held up a hand. "Now hold on just a minute here. She may be a horrid cow, but she certainly isn't ugly."

At once Ginny had an idea. "Hey, Bri—why don't you help me get a better mark? You can flirt with her, you know, soften her up a bit."

"I don't think that's possible…and what will that accomplish anyway?"

Ginny lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I dunno—be creative. Tell her I once saved a mermaid's life or something."

"That'll work," he said sarcastically, taking a swig of his guinness (Ginny wrinkled her nose—she would never know why he insisted on buying that stuff). "You know, she is sort of… what's the word I'm looking for…?"

"A cold-hearted vulture?" Ginny suggested.

"The opposite of ugly… help me think…"

"Okay, so she's really beautiful—"

"Try bloody ravishing."

"So it won't be very horrible for you to go after her. Do it for me, please?"

"Next lesson… I'll use the old McGuire magic. Just for you, love."

"Fantastic. Anything I can do to repay you."

He lifted a brow and looked interested. "Anything?"

Ginny gave him a wink and was about to say something suggestive, but she just didn't have the heart for it. Sighing miserably, she let her bread flop to the table and whispered mournfully, "twelve essays."

"Well, don't feel too bad—the multiple choice wasn't exactly a walk in the park."

"Better than essays," she mumbled, then she laughed. "People were _crying_ when her stupid timer started screeching—"

"—I like that little thing!"

"I thought I was going to stop _breathing_ for a moment."

"Actually there was a witch who started crying at the end." Brian grinned. "I comforted her."

"Really?" Ginny asked dryly. "And…."

Brian glanced at the clock over the sink. "And…I'll be meeting her after I finish eating. Her nerves still need… soothing, I'm sure."

Ginny snorted. "I'm sure." Shaking her head, she pulled a jug of juice from the cabinet and poured herself a tall glass. "We had to chose people to interview in Educating Trolls today."

Brian looked up from his massive sandwich. "Really? Who did you chose?"

"Andel made us pick from a hat—did your class get to chose on your own?"

Brian thought about it; he'd had Educating Troll last term. "No, we were assigned as well, but I knew I was going to be back home in England for Easter holiday so I asked if I could interview my uncle. He used to be a member of the Magical Reverse Squad. He had a few encounters with Muggles seeing trolls, that sort of thing."

"That's right, I remember now. Well, we had to pull from a hat today and I got Madame Millicent… I forget her last name… what?"

Brian was staring at her with a mixture of amusement and regret on his face. "Madame Millicent Mardeax?" he asked carefully.

Ginny lifted a brow. "Yes… why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh, love, I'm so sorry."

"Why, what is it? What the hell is wrong with her?"

"Well, her temper is legend. There was this huge rumor going round a few years back that she stunned a journalist just for asking her age."

Ginny nodded, chewing her sandwich. "That's nice to hear. You'll have to come with so you can perform the counter curse. What else, then?"

"Well, it's her temper… like I said, it's legend. I read somewhere that there is only one time of the week and one time of day she allows herself to be questioned by the press and that means you'll probably have to contact her soon if you want to talk to her before end of term." Brian pointed his fork at her. "This is something you _cannot _leave to the last minute."

"I know, I know. I was really starting to think about it yesterday. In only a few short months we'll be finished, can you believe it? Then we can go home and stop the madness in our lives."

"I'll drink to that," Brian lifted his bottle and, after taking a long gulp, he looked at Ginny a bit cautiously. "Any ideas on that, then?"

"Ideas on what?"

"Going home… stopping the madness…."

Something twisted in her gut. "I dunno what you're talking about," she said evasively.

"I think you do."

"Right if you don't stop gloating that you already have a job lined up and I don't, you'll be sorry. Bastard," she added because she felt like it.

Looking amused, Brian took another bite of sandwich. "You do realize that you will have to make a decision on what sort of position you want eventually…?" he asked after swallowing his mouthful.

"Ehh," Ginny said carelessly, holding up a hand. "'Eventually' is a spectacular word, did you know that? It means… '_not_ _right now_'."

"All right, all right," he grinned. "That's not _technically _what it means, but all right."

Ginny rolled her eyes and was about to retort when Maurice swept into the room and landed on the table.

Brian put down his bottle. "Off. Now."

"Oh, he's not doing anything wrong," Ginny said trying to coax Maurice to her side the table.

Maurice squawked rudely at Brian and proceeded to flip the bread off Brian's sandwich with his beak

"GINNY!"

Ginny sat up and patted her knee. "Maurice, come here. You can sit here, come on now." Maurice fluttered to her knee and Ginny stroked him. "You know he's a prat, why do you have to bother him?" she whispered to her bird.

Maurice rubbed his head against Ginny's chin, hooting in agreement.

"One of these days…" Brian muttered, tossing his bread into the trash and cutting another slice.

Brian and Maurice didn't get on to well… in fact, Brian had been threatening 'one of these days' since Ginny had brought Maurice home a few years back. Ginny couldn't remember what exactly had started the animosity between the two, but she had a fleeting memory of one of Brian's dates running screaming from his bedroom with Maurice chasing after her. Ginny tried to remember… there had been a hat involved, hadn't there…or some kind of fur handbag…?

"What time do you have to work tomorrow?" Brian asked her, eyeing Maurice.

"Five right through until closing time… oh!" she exclaimed. "That is terrific, do you know why?"

"I'm dying to know."

Ginny ignored his sarcasm and leaned forward. "That means that I can get everything done! I can start my Elvish composition tomorrow before work—"

"What's your topic again?"

"The similarities between Elvish and English—"

"Easy."

"I know. _And_ tonight, I can catch up on writing home. I've still a letter to Bill to write, one to Fred, and Sarah… poor Sarah, I haven't written to her in two whole weeks."

"Bloody hell, look at the time," Brian said, sliding his chair back. "Sorry, love, my sympathies are needed in a female dormitory at l'Acadèmie."

"You're not going to help me clean?" she demanded. "BRIAN, THIS PLACE IS A MESS AND IT'S ALL _YOUR_S—!"

"Don't wait up, then," he said cheerfully and left. Ginny hurled a chuck of bread at him as he closed the door, only adding to the mess.

She managed to make the kitchen as spotless as she could, which didn't take quite so long as she was very adept at Scouring Charms from helping her mum so many times. When she stepped into the living room, however, she nearly broke her neck on one of Brian's huge shoes lying in the middle of the room and she grabbed the sideboard for balance.

"You know," she said loudly, startling Maurice who was at the window now. "If I'm awake when he comes home, I'm going to curse him into such a stupor, he won't be able to _make_ a mess for days!"

Maurice hooted in agreement.

Later that night, after having made the flat sparkling and spotless (with the exception of her bedroom), Ginny found herself walking down the streets of Lacasse again, heading, not towards school, but to her bridge instead. Her bridge was located in the center of Lacasse, just over the huge canal that flowed through the city. Le Ponte des Lumières was very old and made of solid stone with a narrow cobblestone pathway along the center of it and a short, wide ledge that Ginny loved to sit on. She went there to write home and think, but as time was scarce for that lately, her visits were few and far between.

Pulling her cloak around her more tightly, Ginny walked swiftly, passing shops that were closed for the night and brightly lit cafés that were only starting to get busy. She felt a twinge of relief that she wasn't at her café right now serving tables and waiting for the night to be over.

At the center of the bridge, Ginny hoisted herself up onto the ledge, brought her legs up, and decided to get the simple person over with first.

_Dear Fred,_

Her lips quirked at the very thought of her brother and she began to write.

_In response to the question in your letter, no, I will not venture into Darkside Row to purchase Veela hair for your "Squawking Mints," even if it costs less gold here than Knockturn Ally. And yes, I fear for my life more than I fear the end of your business. Especially since I know for a fact that it won't be too great a sacrifice to spend the extra gold and spare my life. I have it on good authority (Mum) that business is booming. Also, and I know I've asked you and George many times but I'll ask again: Have you ever thought of opening up a Paris shop? You would make millions of galleons, that's for sure. I can't wait to see the new location in Hogsmeade—Mum said it's twice the size as Diagon Ally's._

_Another thing I cannot wait to see is THE book. It's true, then? You and George are writing a book? Mum is quite horrified, as you know. She can't believe you're writing out instructions on rule breaking for the entire world to read. Well, mostly she's just worried about Julian—she thinks you're going to corrupt her only grandson and Charlie will have to curse you for corrupting his son. Personaly, I can't wait to read it and sue you for anything in there that's mine that you nicked._

_Anyway, I'll end this letter now, as I've got to write to Bill and I love him more than I love you. I'll see you very, very soon and have an advanced copy of that book waiting. Give George a big kiss on the cheek for me. _

_Love, your baby, baby sister (and former protégé),_

_Ginny_

Ginny skimmed the contents quickly and, smiling to herself, slipped it inside an envelope. "Onto Bill," she muttered and dipped her quill into the inkbottle next to her.

Writing to Bill was quite different from writing to Fred. Bill's letter consisted of an array of questions regarding what type of job Ginny was going to apply for once she was back in England and some ideas on her options. Ginny concentrated on answering all of his questions and by the time she was finished, her head was spinning. The issues he'd brought up were not only on her mind constantly as it was, but Ginny was beginning to feel little chords of panic when she thought about it. She was truly torn over what to do with her life after she finished with l'Acadèmie in only—her stomach churned—a few short months.

The obvious choice for a degree in Linguistics would be to work at the Ministry as a translator in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Most people in her year were applying at their countries' respective Ministries and some had even been accepted—including Brian, who'd had a very praising recommendation from one of their professors. Even though Ginny's marks weren't as high as Brian's, she knew she would be able to work for the Ministry as a translator if she wanted to, but the truth was that the job just didn't spark her interest enough for her to decide on it as the thing she would be doing for the rest of her life. Brian said this was because she couldn't make a decision to save her life, and even though Ginny openly admitted that was true, she knew that she had good reason being undecided this time around. She was dealing with her future now.

At once, Le Papillon, the little café she worked in, came into her mind and Ginny heaved a sigh. Even though she would never say so out loud and Brian would curse her dead if she ever admitted this, Ginny sincerely wished she could work there for the rest of her life. She knew the people—she loved the people—and it was so comfortable. The atmosphere was relaxing and fun with the friendly customers, the excited tourists, the school children who came in after school, the rowdy crowd from university, with whom Ginny usually found herself joining by the time the night was ending. Ginny had taken the job after her first term to help pay for university and eventually to get out of the horrid dormitories of l'Acadèmie, but the little café with it's outdoor patio, flowery trellis, and cozy bar had rapidly become like a home to her.

However, spending the rest of her life working in a café in Paris was only a pipe dream—something she knew she would never truly be happy with. She'd spent five years being educated on Linguistics and there was really no question that she wouldn't get a job that could reward her for all her time and energy. Ginny only hoped that she would find a field in the subject that she could be passionate about and love—not just settle for.

Besides, she missed home… part of her felt like she could jump out of her skin in anticipation to go home—not just for a quick visit over Christmas, but for good.

Ginny opened Sarah's letter next and if she was feeling homesick before, this letter had her practically in tears by the time she finished reading.

_Dear Ginny, _

_Okay, I am starting to pack now for my holiday in Paris. Just kidding, good Lord, can you imagine? I'm not coming for months, yet. Which brings me to how utterly excited I am. I can't wait to finally take a break from working and mostly, I can't wait to see you. Did you know it's officially the longest time we've been apart now? I've figured it out. You haven't come since the Christmas before last, just under a year and half now and that is the longest we've ever been apart. I saw Fred and George yesterday in the new joke shop — it looks amazing, I have to admit — and they were teasing me something fierce about you and I pining away for each other. I hit George and told him that you and I are just like twins and what would HE do if Fred went away for five years. They pretended to start crying and hugged each other like a couple of idiots, but I know they miss you too._

_Things have been so hectic here—there's this wizard at the office who fancies me and he's always tripping over his feet and things. He is sort of sweet, but Ginny, he reminds me of Colin Creevey and I just can't get over it. BY THE WAY, Colin is ENGAGED. Can you believe it? His fiancé is so pretty, too! I don't know what she sees in him, but to each her own, I suppose. Anyway, I'll stop rambling on now because I know you're busy and so am I come to that! And by the way, don't rush to respond to this if you don't have the time—just know that I can't wait for you to show me around Paris!_

_Love, Sarah_

_PS—By the way, if you write to Fred or George at all, tell them I found the Canary Cream they sneaked into my handbag and did they really think I'd be fooled into eating it?_

Ginny laughed out loud and fumbled for her quill to start writing back to Sarah. The letter she wrote was jumbled and emotional and so refreshing. But then, it was always exciting when she wrote to Sarah lately because she knew that Sarah would be arriving in Paris after term was over for the two of them to enjoy a fantastic holiday.

Tucking her letters into her handbag, Ginny gripped the ledge with her hands and leaned back against the night, peeking over her shoulder at the flowing canal of black water behind her and enjoying the rush she always felt when doing this. She grinned and tried to imagine her family's reactions if they were here with her. Her mum would shriek that she was going to fall off and to get down; Fred and George would probably hold her further over, threatening to drop her; Ron would grab her hand and yank her out of their grip away from the bridge, always trying to be protective….

Sometimes she wished they could see her here. Her parents had been to visit, of course, a few times over the years; Charlie and his family had taken a holiday a year or so ago, but the others had never seen her in Paris… in her other home. Even her mum and dad and Charlie hadn't really seen her—the real her—when they'd been to visit. Those holidays were always rushed and packed with sightseeing and she was never able to show them her normal life.

Oh, well. Paris life was hers and hers alone and that felt even better.

Quite finished with her alone time she hopped off the ledge and swung her handbag over her shoulder as she walked back. She watched her feet stepping over the cobblestone pathway and thought how odd it was that this was so familiar to her…she'd even memorized the way the stones were set in the path— they would get lighter in color near the end of the bridge and begin to smooth out.

She was struck then, as she so often was when she came here, how odd it was to have a life away from England… a life that she couldn't imagine _ever_ leaving much less leaving for good. Her brief time at the Burrow these past years had been fun and wonderful and familiar, but she'd always been ready to return to Paris—back to the norm. It was like coming home to deal with real life after being away on a sort of holiday and Ginny felt a prickle of fear at the thought of being back at the Burrow and not having Paris to return to anymore. She wouldn't have her flat to go home to, she wouldn't have her friends, or the café to speak French in and enjoy all the different personalities that breezed through there every day. She wouldn't have the bartender's ear to listen to her chatter or her friend Aurelie to gossip with or Pierre the chef to make some obnoxious comment about something or other. She wouldn't have her bridge or her school or the friends she'd made there from all over the world. She wouldn't have the city….

Ginny descended the short steps at the end of the bridge, holding onto the railing as she made a sharp twirl to the left to head back to the flat. She wondered how she was going to adjust to being home. The picture of her tiny bedroom at the Burrow fluttered into her mind and she felt her heart lift a little. Her bedroom… her family… suddenly she couldn't wait to sleep in her old bed. Ginny thought of Brian and grinned—she supposed she would miss him yelling at the top of his lungs for her to get out of bed, but she felt a huge relief that Brian was not someone she had to say goodbye to; he would be back in England, working for the Ministry and probably getting on fantastically with her father in a few months time; the two of them had hit it off from the start.

When she passed a nearby pub which was always brimming with people, Ginny spotted a table of students which contained some friends from her Mermish lesson through the large picture window. As several of them spotted her, Ginny found herself being beckoned over and she spent the next hour laughingly reliving the horror of the Mermish exam with her friends and informing the outraged group how different Brian's exam had been.

Much later, as she stepped into her cool flat and flipped off her shoes, leaving them laying on their sides next to Brian's, it occurred to Ginny that she'd forgotten to read Hermione's letter. She groaned out loud before walking over to Maruice and attaching the responces that she's written earlier to his leg, watching him fly through the window, and wondering if she would ever catch up.

She was too wired from the loud music in the pub to write anything else tonight, so there was no way she could start her Elvish composition. Flipping on the wireless, she pulled her hair from its ponytail and grabbed the Muggle novel that she'd been reading on and off for months now (she just didn't have the time to read for long periods of time anymore). Then, raising the volume on the wireless with her wand, she slipped into the bathroom to run her bubble bath, leaving the door open, but setting her wand on the edge of the tub in case Brian came home and she had to close the door. She was just about to pull her shirt over her head when a noise from the living room caused her to whip her head around.

It was an owl—not Maurice—but Ginny grinned at the site of his tiny little body flying up and down, bobbing excitedly in midair.

"Pigwidgeon!" she cried gleefully, stepping back into the living room. "Come here—no, stop, Pigwidgeon, stay _still_!" Giving up any notion of cuddling her pet, Ginny rolled her eyes and snatched the letters that were attached to his leg. "Here you go, _no_ – not on Maurice's perch, he'll die. Over here." She poured a few owl snacks onto the windowsill and Pigwidgeon happily tucked in, sending bits flying.

Ginny surveyed the letter from her Mum and wondered why she would use Pig to send a letter and not the family owl, but when she slipped open the envelope and saw another addressed in Ron's handwriting, Ginny smirked. She'd be willing to bet everything she owned that mum had coerced Ron into writing a letter by telling him to use Pigwidgeon for her delivery as well.

Giving up on her bath and tossing her novel onto the table, Ginny curled up on the sofa and, after flicking her wand to stop the running bath in the loo, opened her Mum's letter. Laying her head back on her embroidered pillows, she began to read:

_Dear Ginny,_

_In answer to your last letter everything is fine here. Ron's letter is included as you've seen, of course, provided this owl makes it to Paris at all. Do send your own owl back with your response, dear, he is very professional and Julian loves him. _

_Speaking of Julian, Charlie and Emma are doing wonderfully! They are very excited— Emma performed the Gender Charm and they made the announcement the other day. It will be a little baby girl—the second Weasley girl in generations! Julian is excited about having a little sister, it's all he can talk about. I simply can't wait… I've started knitting the pink blanket already. _

Ginny let out a little squeal and pressed the letter to her heart. She was going to have a niece! She positively glowed as she continued to read on.

_Your father is working on a coming-home present for you. It has to do with Muggles, of course, but he's made me promise not to say anything about what it is. Just pretend you like it, dear, but then, I know you would anyway. _

_How are your lessons? You mentioned a big exam last time—in Mermish—how did that go? _

_Bill wants you to answer his letter straight away, he's been looking for job opportunities for you since he wrote to you and he's come up with quite a few. You'll probably be interested in that if you haven't already thought of something yourself._

Ginny smiled after reading this paragraph. This was her mum making it ever so subtle that she was interested to know if Ginny had come up with anything, but making sure not to press her. Mum knew what she was doing, Ginny thought to herself with a sly smile.

_How is Brian? Send him my love and be sure to tell him to keep the Sunday after you arrive open—I'll be having a dinner for you and everyone will be invited of course. Charlie even mentioned renting a room at a restaurant in Hogsmeade for a welcome home party… how would you like that? Ahh… look at me, talking about your return as if it's tomorrow. I know it's not for a few months yet, but I can't wait to have you home again. You're bedroom is still waiting, the same as you left it. I miss waking up my little girl in the morning—or afternoon._

_Anyway, things are rather calm here—nothing like the city of Lacasse, I would suspect. We did have a large dinner tonight even though I hadn't planned on it. Mostly everyone had chosen to stop by and even Harry managed to get off work early to eat—that boy works so many hours he's barely around anymore. Hermione was telling me that she wrote to you—you'll probably be getting her letter soon—she's very excited for you to be home._

_And that's everything I can think of. I'm sitting in the kitchen now while your brothers de-gnome for me because Merlin knows your father will never do anything to hurt those things. I know it's twice as hard to de-gnome at night, but there is nobody to do it during the day. The house is practically empty in the afternoons. That's why I can't wait for my girl to come home to keep female company with me again. I miss her. _

_Love, Mum _

Ginny reread the letter more slowly, going back to the last paragraph again and again. It was quite a few minutes before she finally stood and went to bed.

By the time Friday came round, Ginny felt as though she was months closer to the day she had to go back to England. Indeed every subject seemed to be planning for the final tests they would have to take to complete the degree, the A.L.Y.Ls (At Last You're a Linguist) and the pressure was on to get the highest marks possible for job applications. Needless to say, the students of L'Acadèmie d'Aubervive were highly strung and worn out—Ginny and Brian being no exception.

"What's the Troll for 'golden?' " Ginny asked one night, not wanting to have to go searching for her English to Troll Dictionary. She and Brian were occupying opposite corners of the flat, each flipping through books and muttering to their charmed quills, which were writing furiously on long pieces of parchment. There were brief interruptions when Brian would fling his book off the table in frustration or Ginny would stomp her feet in tantrum-like fashion.

Brian cracked his neck with a roll of his head. "Ghur. Accent the 'G'."

Ginny nodded and commanded the quill accordingly.

"I'm hungry," Brian said, slamming his book shut.

"_Finite!"_ Ginny commanded the quill and continued writing by her own hand—the quill was loosing it's magic very quickly owing to the fact that it had been working non-stop for the past week. Ginny had spent the entire night dotting the 'i's and crossing the 't's of her essay which the quill had failed to do and now the cheap thing was going far too slowly. Then she realized Brian had spoken and she barely lifted her eyes from her parchment to reply, "we just ate."

Brian started to agree, but stopped in mid-sentence. "Gin. That was nine hours ago."

Ginny shook her head and wished he would shut up. "No, it wasn't, we ate at one, it's only—" She looked up and followed his gaze to the clock over the kitchen sink. "Oh, wow, it's almost ten o'clock!"

"Let's get out of here, seriously, before I go mad," he said, sitting back and running his hands through his hair.

"I could have sworn it was only … six or… something…" Ginny mumbled and shoved the quill in her mouth to gather her papers together. When she stood and finally got a close look at Brian, she almost laughed. His light brown hair stood up in every direction and his eyes looked wild and un-focused.

Before Ginny could comment, however, Brian eyed her. "You look like hell."

"I was thinking the same thing about you."

"Food. Now."

They both laughed as their stomachs gave identical growls.

Basically, the only things Ginny had time for all week were studying and eating (barely) with the occasional shift at the café thrown in for good measure. Her shifts at the café weren't all bad; Ginny could easily let her friend Aurelie handle most of the tables while she finished her homework behind the bar. Working had even benefited her on Thursday night when a family of goblins came in (quite a rare occurrence) and Ginny wound up talking to them for one solid hour about Gobbledegook dialects and rarities in speech. By the end of her shift, her entire composition had been practically written from the notes she'd taken.

Despite her busy agenda, however, Ginny did feel like everything was coming along nicely. Taking Brian's advice, she'd contacted Madame Millicent immediately and her secretary had told Ginny to come in one afternoon next week to make an appointment—which added a whole different stress to the situation. Ginny had never set foot inside France's Ministry and she had no idea how to go about any of it. The secretary had been very nice in her response, explaining that the Ministry was, of course, unplottable which meant Aparating would not work. She also sent Ginny extensive directions on how to get to the furthest Apparition spot on foot. It was a long walk, and Ginny almost wished she could venture into Muggle Paris and see about taking a taxi, but that would be too expensive and she didn't have much time to convert her gold into Muggle money.

"Please come with me, Bri," Ginny pleaded on the morning of her appointment. "Honestly, you don't need to go school, you're smarter than Professor Aale."

"Ha." Brian said through a mouthful of croissant. "Buttering me up won't work. I can't miss class, love, I've already told you—"

"_Pleeeeeease_?"

"Are you mad? Look, why don't you wait until three o'clock and I'll go with you then-"

"Because I've made the appointment for twelve. That was the only time the secretary had an opening."

Brian made a face. "You have to make an appointment to make an _appointment_, how dense is that—"

"It's the _Ministry_, Brian. The Ministry of _Magic_. It's top security in there… they might… _body _search me." A light came into his eyes and Ginny cut him off before he could make some sordid comment. "Look, stop being such a … _Hermione_ and skive off, will you? For me?"

Even as she gave him her most vulnerable eyes, Ginny knew it was no hope—getting Brian to miss school was like trying to get him to cancel a date.

"Look, Gin, I'll even leave my Mermish lesson an hour early—two."

Ginny shook her head. "I can't wait that long. Thanks for nothing, though," she snapped, her temper getting the better of her and she slammed from the room.

Ginny knew she shouldn't be angry, but she just couldn't help it. She had full confidence that she could make it to the Ministry on her own, but having some company would have made the journey a great deal less nervewracking. And it wasn't as though Brian couldn't afford to miss a lesson or two.

So later that morning, Ginny ventured out on her own. The first step was to Apparate to a park, which was located at the very borders of the city, and she did so from the flat. It was huge and picturesque with high iron fences and hundreds of trees dotting the lawns and lining the long broomstick-riding paths, which twisted over the small hills. Ginny realized at once that she was standing on the path as three small children riding miniature broomsticks zoomed by, giggling madly, followed by a witch on an adult-sized broom who called out to them in French. Ginny scooted out of the way, smiling at a young couple who passed her hand in hand and pulling out the piece of parchment on which she'd written the directions.

It took her over an hour to walk to the Ministry, including getting lost and having to ask a few suspicious looking street sellers for help, but finally she made it to the huge stone gates of the Ministry of Magic. There were five large security Trolls standing at the entrance, who Ginny recognized at once as Highland Trolls—quite vicious, but extremely calculating and smart. Thinking that she needed all the help she could get, Ginny approached them and introduced herself in their own native language. They looked only slightly surprised at her speaking Troll and one of them pulled a long slab of stone from his pocket; Ginny could see that there were names and times carved into the stone and hers was one of them.

"Inside," he grunted back in Troll. "See the receptionist."

Thanking them, Ginny walked inside the gates and up a long pathway that looked very much like the one in the park and before she knew it, a huge structure came into view. It looked like l'Academie, only much older and much bigger. As she neared, she saw people coming out of the many different exits, some appearing from around the sides of the building, some walking down a huge stone stairway. They all looked very professional in business robes and Ginny heard two nearby talking in French, "…got splintched while trying to Apparate to Montauban—in the _Muggle _world. Twelve Muggles saw the leg—it was moving and everything—many of them went mad and had to be institutionalized. Now the Magical Repeal has to Apparate into the Asylum and fix their memories and the all the _doctors' _memories. It's a forty-person job—" Ginny would have grinned if she hadn't been so nervous—she missed hearing stories like that from her father.

As she approached the entrance, however, people seemed slightly more scarce. She gazed up at the two huge wooden doors as she walked up a tall stone steps and as she reached for the handle, the door opened and voices sounded. Instinct had her jumping aside but as the talking continued and nobody emerged from the doors, Ginny reasoned that they were standing on the other side, finishing up a conversation. She wondered if she should pass through and excuse herself, but the thought flew from her mind as one of the men spoke.

Amidst the French accents, one male voice spoken in perfect English made the blood drain from her head. She forced her ears to open, trying desperately to hear it again, but there were a few others speaking and she couldn't tell if it had only been a mistake in her mind….

But then he spoke again, bidding farewell to someone and Ginny's eyes slid closed.

There was no mistake.

Chapter Two

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**A/N**: It's ironic, isn't it, that I should be writing a fic about Ginny abroad in Paris when my co-webmistress is currently IN France. :-D However, the idea for this fic came a very long time ago, when Emmyjean's trip abroad was very far away. The fic was originally set in Rome because I've been there and know the language. It was changed to Paris for storyline purposes, which will be evident later. J


	3. Chapter Two

Title: "Seeking Ginny" Author: Casca 

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N**: This chapter has been in progress for months. Thanks to Emmyjean for reading it's forty-five thousand, seven hundred and fifty two rough drafts and commenting on each of them way over there in France. If you see Ginny, tell her hi. And thanks to Splatt for the Brit-talk beta. I'll buy you a gingerbeer next time I see ya.

A/N: This fic has been revised as of October 2005. I have altered a few scenes in this chapter, mostly modifying Ginny's character a bit. I have complete faith that you will enjoy the changes, however, which exist mostly in the flashback… with Brian. :) Also – to users – SORRY for the confusion. I uploaded a revised chapter as chapter fourteen by mistake and it sent off notices that a new chapter had been added. A new chapter is not VERY far off, not to worry. ;) Chapter Two 

The door opened wider. There were many emotions racing through Ginny at that point, but none were stronger than her basic senses of sight and sound. Her eyes burned into the door as if she were able to see through and her ears were strained, trying to catch any _hint _of that voice again. But all she saw was the dark wooden panels of the door and the only voices she could hear were the throaty sounds of French-accented English. Eventually the talking stopped and there was a short silence before the door inched opened even wider and one polished shoe stepped out.

Denial coursed through her.

Her mental protests, however, didn't have much power and he emerged anyway, swinging on a long black cloak so that Ginny couldn't see anything of him. She watched the cloak billow in slow motion and as it settled around his shoulders, her eyes flew to his face.

The breath that had been caught in her throat rushed out in a long sigh when she found herself looking into the face of a wizard with brown eyes and a thick brown mustache.

It wasn't Harry.

But it _had _been Harry… _hadn't _it?

Her brow furrowed, Ginny looked at the door, then at the man's retreating back. A few years ago, this episode would have been a common thing—she used to see Harry everywhere she went, hear his voice all over the place even though it had been quite obvious that he was a million floos away where she had left him. But that hadn't happened in a long time, and she stood there for a moment, coming to terms with its return now, years later, on a day when Harry was the very last thing on her mind.

She didn't have to reason it out, but her brain began to put the pieces together, automatically collecting evidence that she was right—if Harry were in Paris, she'd have heard something about it. Her family would have let her know or Brian would have read about it in one of his newspapers and made some comment to her. Over the years he had, much to Ginny's disinterest, kept her up to date on various news events and the subject of Harry had come up before (though Ginny had shown even less of an interest in Harry as she did in the rest of Brian's subjects). The logic of it all, combined with the fact that the wizard who had emerged from the doors was now calling out to someone in his very _British_ voice had her starting to relax.

Pressing a hand to her jittering stomach and taking a moment to gather her wits, Ginny lifted her other hand to look at her watch and saw that there were only a few minutes before the hand struck twelve o'clock. She felt the flutters in her abdomen double, but for a completely different reason. She was going to be late if she didn't hurry. Assuming what she hoped was a professional posture and trying to push thoughts of Harry from her mind, Ginny lifted her chin and pulled one of the heavy doors open—and found herself face to face with him.

As though greeted by a rush of wind, she took a physical step back. Then, suddenly, instantly, her eyes became hungry. He looked brilliant… all broad shoulders, strong, square jaw… hard, angular face… an _adult_. His frame was still thin but it wasn't that of a lanky teenager… he was lean and so much taller than her, his longish black hair falling into his eyes with a hint of that unkemptness and his eyes…his eyes….

The only clear thought in her brain was that she had gone far too long without his eyes.

"Sorry, er, _pardon,_" he muttered, interrupting her trance.

If Ginny had thought that opening a door in Paris and seeing an adult Harry standing behind it was the shock of her life, she'd been wrong. He continued to stun her by brushing right past and walking down the huge staircase without another glance at her. She twisted her head around to watch him, still clutching the open door and she wondered what the hell to do now. Time had seemed to stop when she'd seen him and now it was moving so quickly—or rather, _Harry _was moving so quickly. He was walking away from her with the speed of someone who was undoubtedly in a hurry.

Should she _say_ something to him? She knew she should, but something made her want to turn and walk through the doors of the Ministry and be on with her own business, just as he was doing with his. In the end, her mouth made the decision.

"Harry," it called without thought or reason.

He stopped in his tracks. After a moment, he turned, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. Ginny watched with half-shock, half-amusement as his wary brow lifted above the rim of his glasses. It was unimaginable that he didn't recognize her, but seeing him regard her with such removed interest said differently. There was a moment of that veiled look before his eyes slowly widened. He was looking at her hair.

"Ginny?"

She found herself smiling before calling out, "Yes. Hi, Harry."

He stared at her for a moment before he let out an astonished laugh and started to walk towards her.

"Hi. How are you?"

Ginny stepped down a few steps to close the remaining distance and in doing so, caught the angle of the sun. Squinting against it, she smiled up at him, even though he was standing on the stair below her. "I'm fine, thanks. How are you?"

"Okay," he said with a smile of his own—it still held a hint of that boyhood grin. "Are you working at the Ministry now, or…?"

Ginny opened her mouth to speak but found herself a bit confused by that. "No, I'm not working here, I'm here doing an assignment for one of my courses."

"Oh, right, you're still at university," he nodded as if just remembering. "How's that going, then?"

The wind was strong. Ginny tucked a lose strand of hair that kept assaulting her face behind her ears. "It's going well. I'm almost finished, actually, I should be home this summer."

"I knew that," he said, shaking his head at himself. "You're mum told me."

She gave a little laugh. "You're here on business, I take it?"

"Yeah, for a bit. Ministry things…" he said vaguely and Ginny started to nod back in that same monotonous agreement, but then she allowed herself a grin.

"Anything exciting?"

Harry expelled a laughing breath. "Not this time. Actually, it's been rather dull."

"How long will you be here?"

"A few weeks."

Ginny waited for him to continue, then realized that he didn't intend to. "Well, that should give you a chance to see the city," she said quickly.

Harry smiled back and nodded, and just when Ginny starting thinking she would be late for her appointment if she didn't hurry inside, Harry glanced down at his watch and lifted a brow. "I hate to cut this short, but…."

She shook her head. "No, not at all. I've got to be inside, actually."

"Right then, well…I suppose…I suppose I'll see you…" he trailed off, looking uncertain as how to say goodbye.

"Right …" she said, trailing off as well, trying to think of a way to end this without simply walking away. And because it was the only thing she could think of that wouldn't be completely rude, she went on, "We should get together or something while you're here. To catch up."

Even as she said it, a nervous flutter skidded to a halt in her stomach… along with a keen stab of disappointment. She had to offer, Harry was in Paris and they were friends and the only polite thing to do was to get together. But it meant more pretenses now, probably a few hours of them.

She'd thought she was through with pretenses.

"Yeah…that's cool," he said, nodding and Ginny smiled brightly, hoping it didn't look false. Thinking fast and praying that she wouldn't be late for her appointment, she rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a bit of parchment.

"Here's the address of the café I work in. You can call on me there—I work most evenings and we can have a chat or something."

As she was saying the words, Ginny couldn't help but wonder what on earth would they have to chat about. They'd barely been able to fill the space of a few minutes with small talk.

Harry glanced at the parchment and put it in the inside pocket of his robes. "That sounds great." But from the rather uninterested look on his face—which he wasn't particularly trying to mask—Ginny could tell he was thinking along the same lines as she.

"Well, I suppose I'll be seeing you, then. Bye, Harry." She gave him a little wave as she stepped backwards up a stair.

"Bye, Ginny." He lifted his hand as he walked away and before she knew what she was doing, Ginny turned quickly, heaved open the door, and stepped inside the Ministry of Magic.

_Four Years Earlier_

"Class is dismissed. I'll see you all next term… hopefully."

There were sounds of books being gathered, chairs scraping the floor and the hum of chatter rising as everyone hastened to leave the classroom. Not in any particularly hurry herself, Ginny gathered her own things and slid them into the same patched bag she'd used since her third year at Hogwarts. It was a Friday afternoon and to Ginny and the rest of the students in Gobbledygook for Beginners, Professor Flaubert's goodbye was a testament that they had all made it through their very first term at L'Acadèmie d'Aubervive.

Ginny felt a sense of pride—but it was short lived when she remembered that she still had two more to go before finishing an entire year. L'Acadèmie had three terms per year, over five long years, giving a grand total of fifteen terms, fourteen to go. Ginny frowned. When she looked at it that way, it was quite a depressing thought.

Giving the professor a halfhearted smile, Ginny left the room and started down the corridor, remembering suddenly that she'd had a letter from her Mum this morning. She quickened her steps. There hadn't been any time to read it before class and she'd forgotten to bring it along to occupy her fifteen minute break during the day.

It seemed a bit ironic to be in such a hurry to read a letter which would only make her more homesick, but she didn't care. She was often plagued with curiosity of how everyone was getting on at home and if she wasn't there to see it for herself, she wanted to know as much as she could… about her family… and … and everyone.

God knew that she would rather be there than here.

It was very disconcerting, living in such a beautiful and fascinating place and having the entire thing tainted by the fact that it wasn't home. Ginny didn't delude herself into thinking she would ever truly be at home in Paris; as much as she enjoyed her subjects and got on well with the people she'd met, her loneliness dominated everything…and everywhere she looked, she was reminded of home.

As if on cue, she walked passed the brightly lit Christmas tree in the main foyer of the University and her mind halted painfully on the photograph her Mum had sent her of the family Christmas tree. It certainly wasn't as glamorous as this one, but it had all the little ornaments that her family had used year after year—and the angel on which her Dad had to cast an Illuminating Charm once a day because the magic in it was so old. Everyone was in the picture, standing in front of it, smiling and waving to her. Bill blew her a kiss, her Mum held up the little ornament that read _Ginevra's First Christmas_ in flashing letters, Dad grinned heartily.

She felt a pang somewhere deep when she thought about it… how long it had been since she'd decorated that tree…years since she'd spent Christmas with her family. It was true that she'd usually wanted to stay at Hogwarts, but it just felt wrong not to be there this time.

And why couldn't she? She puffed out a dry laugh and shook her head. Why couldn't she go home for Christmas this year? Well, the answer to that was in the photograph, standing right between Ron and Hermione.

She was better off here.

Without warning, a slice of pain split up her nose and her face was suddenly smashed into a solid wall of sweater and torso. Strong hands gripped her arms to steady her.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered in French, stepping back and pressing a hand to her nose. "I—oh." She stopped apologizing at once. "It's you," she said flatly, in English.

He smirked and let go of her arms. "Having a relaxing stroll with your eyes closed, are you, love?"

Ginny almost scoffed. Did it _look_ like she was having a _stroll_? She had a bag bursting with books and the ones that didn't fit were piled in her arms.

"I was preoccupied. Sorry," she said matter-of-factly, not sounding sorry at all.

He lifted a brow, his lips curving into a smirk, making Ginny feel like she was the butt of some joke. "Have a lovely weekend, Ginny."

"You do the same, Brian" she said sweetly, her voice dripping with sugar, and sauntered off towards the door.

Prat.

Ginny had thought that yesterday's final lesson of Mermish Caste Systems was last she'd have to endure of Brian McGuire, research partner from hell, but apparently she'd been wrong. She only hoped that he wasn't in any of her lessons next term.

When Ginny stepped outside, her mood lifted automatically at the sparkling snow that seemed to be falling endlessly. She let some flakes land on her tongue. It had snowed a few times before this and Ginny had never seen anything as beautiful as Lacasse with it's fairy lights floating high along the streets, the cottage-like shops emitting colorful smoke from their chimney's and sparkling icicles dripping from the windows. It was truly a sight.

And quite cold. Ginny was in the middle of securing the fastenings of her secondhand cloak, reminding herself to fix the broken hook later, and trying to adjust the pile of books so that she had a better grip on them when she saw something that made her stop everything. The hold on her books failed—they slid through her arms to the snowy ground, but Ginny didn't even notice. She was currently staring, transfixed in a horrid sort of way, at a black haired wizard wearing a long dark cloak and wire-rimmed glasses, buying a magazine from a kiosk.

For a moment, time stood still… then a huge gust of wind assaulted Ginny and the sound of book pages flapping and papers fluttering brought her back to life. Her mind racing, Ginny sank to her knees and hastily pulled her things towards her. She tried to look up several times to make sure he hadn't left, but her hair was blowing into her eyes, making it even more difficult for her shaking hands to gather all of her wet books. At last she stood, clutching the messy pile to her chest and looked back at the magazine trolley once more. He was gone.

Ginny's breath came out in puffs of white smoke and she stood in the middle of the square, staring helplessly around and watching dozens of dark-haired men in black cloaks pass her … none of them the one she was interested in. A tiny voice in her mind whispered that she was being absurd, but Ginny didn't care at that moment. All she knew was that she'd seen Harry… he was here… and now she'd lost him.

_It can't be him,_ a voice in her head taunted her, but Ginny refused to believe it. She was rooted to this spot—_this spot_ where she was sure that— _no_. It was impossible… but what if… what if by some chance….

Her entire mind went numb at the thought.

He _couldn't_. The only truly wonderful thing about this place was that she was so far away from Harry… she was out of his reach here and he couldn't hurt her here but all of that would change if….

It would ruin everything. But hope still nudged at her.

Thoroughly irritated with herself, Ginny pushed her wet hair back and rearranged her books, as she walked swiftly through a narrow ally, reality began to hit her, cruel and harsh as the biting wind. It wasn't Harry. It never bloody _was_. How many times was she going to do this to herself. How many times was she going to allow him to intrude on her life, even when he wasn't even in the same bloody country—

Her thought-trail halted as a black cloak whizzed past her. Panic rose again; she cast an irrational, anxious glance over her shoulder and in doing so, missed a patch of ice. Her foot slid forward, the heel of her boot turning on its edge and she felt a searing pain shoot as her ankle twisted.

"Damn!" The haphazard pile in her arms slipped a notch and she had to struggle to get hold of everything as she tried not to lose her balance. Her eyes were already watering because of the cold and beyond that, she felt tears of frustration prickling at the corners.

When she had finally gained her balance and managed the hold on her books, Ginny burrowed into her cloak and broke into a run towards her building, ignoring her throbbing ankle. She finally made it inside and after climbing many flights of stairs, closed herself up in her tiny room. It was smaller than her bedroom at the Burrow and Ginny hated everything about it from the stale colors to the two feet of space between her desk and lumpy mattress. After letting her books tumble over the small surface of her desk, she sank onto her bed and tried with all her might to block the tears.

She failed.

Everything she was feeling seemed to pour out of her… the pent up homesickness… the resentment that she couldn't be home for Christmas… Harry…the feelings for him that just wouldn't go away… and most of all, the absolute and utter shame she felt in herself….

She wanted to go home. She didn't _belong _here—she would _never _belong here. She felt like this place was imaginary and it would be a lifetime before she could stop pretending to be someone that she wasn't and just _go_ _home_.

After what seemed like hours, Ginny finally exhausted her grief. She sat on the edge of her bed, feeling emotionally drained and stared blankly at the plain wall of her dormitory.

It was going to be okay, she told herself as she breathed in a slow, deep breath and lay back against her pillow, dragging her hands down her tear-stained face. She needed to stop being so hard on herself and just admit that this wasn't going to be as simple as she'd thought. Nothing regarding Harry had _ever_ been easy and getting over him was no exception… neither was missing him.

And that was what hurt most of all, she admitted, her wet eyes traveling over a long, twisted crack in the ceiling. For every stab of fear she felt when she "saw" him, there was a glimmer of hope that he might actually be here. For her. It was stupid, but it was true and Ginny found that she couldn't be angry at herself because of it. Because she _was _strong, _so_ much stronger than her feelings for him. It would just take time. Letting her eyes fall close, Ginny held onto that thought.

A sudden knock on the door caused her to jump… and then go very still. She never had unexpected visitors. Sitting up slightly, staring at the back of the door with her heart pounding. It all came back, flooding through her like a tidal wave. The blood drained from her face and her mouth went completely dry as she called,

"Who is it?"

Pause. "It's Brian McGuire."

Ginny blinked. Relief came over her with such intensity that she actually managed a weak smile. No Harry… she was okay. She dragged herself off the bed and stepped across the tiny room to open the door.

"You dropped this," Brian said irritably in greeting, holding up a book that looked very wet and a little muddy. Ginny noticed Brian wasn't too dry himself.

"Oh," she took the book and flipped open the cover; sure enough her name and dormitory were written in her handwriting.

"Thanks," she said and offered him a surprised smile. The only time Brian had ever acted kind towards her had been when they had first met – he'd used a rather clever pick-up line that even she'd had a difficult time seeing through. But bringing her a book in the middle of a snow storm was a bit more than a charming come-on. "Did you come all the way over here just to bring this to me?"

He lifted a brow. "Don't flatter yourself, love. A friend of mine lives in this building."

Ginny almost rolled her eyes, but she reminded herself that he had been polite enough to drop it off in the first place. "Ah, well. Don't let me keep you. Thanks, again."

"Actually," he said, stopping her from closing the door with his foot. "Were you planning on eating alone tonight?"

After staring down at his foot in confusion, Ginny lifted her eyes, blinking. "Why?" she asked before she could think of anything else to say, her face incredulous. Any bloke asking a girl that question usually meant one thing—but Brian McGuire, the bloke she had called an arrogant woman-hater to his face, asking this was a bit startling.

A smirk pulled at Brian's mouth. "Well, she canceled on me—my friend. And now…" He lifted his hand an let it fall to his side in defeat, "I've nobody to have dinner with."

Ginny stared at him and all of a sudden, it hit her.

He was flirting.

Quite rapidly, as though a part of her that had been lying dormant for years had woken up in an instant, Ginny felt herself brighten. She hadn't flirted in ages. She hadn't _wanted_ to flirt with anyone… except… one particular someone. But the urge to flirt back was there, and it felt so healthy and so natural that she had a momentary urge to throw her arms around Brian McGuire.

She refrained from flinging herself at him, however, and smiled broadly, summoning a flirtatious glint of her own into her eyes. Her voice warm with humor, she asked, "Are you asking me out, Brian? Because you ought to know I think you're a prat."

He waited a beat. "That a yes or a no?"

She giggled and the mindlessness of it felt good. _Really _good. Rolling her eyes, she turned away to walk back into her room, ignoring him for a moment as she skirted around the bed so that a puzzled expression crossed his face.

"I am hungry," she stated, reaching for her handbag and sitting down to pull on her boots, "so I suppose it's a yes."

She watched a brow arch over one eye. He really was very handsome. "Wow… don't flatter me, or anything."

"Oh, don't worry. I won't."

Brian grinned then—a wide, dimpled grin and Ginny couldn't help but blush.

"We'll see about that," he said knowingly, his light blue eyes sparkling – now with a challenge.

Ginny laughed. He was confident, wasn't he. She instantly knew that if her heart hadn't been occupied elsewhere, Brian's eyes might have gotten her into trouble. But there was no danger of that. And even if there was…that would be a much more enjoyable game than the ones she played with a non-existent Harry nowadays.

"Let's go, already."

"OY! Are you home?"

Brian's voice called through the flat, reaching Ginny in her bedroom and she sat back at her desk, rubbing at her eyes. She'd been reading from her Troll textbook since arriving home from the Ministry nearly two hours ago. Her brain felt wrung out.

"I'm in here!" she called, accidentally speaking Troll. She laughed at herself.

Brian rapped on the door before poking his head inside. "Are we speaking Troll at home now?"

Giggling wearily, Ginny shook her head. "I've lost my mind, sorry."

"Well? Did it go all right? What happened?"

Ginny looked up at Brian's curious face and felt disappointment creep up on her. "No… it didn't. I missed the appointment."

He stared. "What?"

"I missed it. I was late and the secretary had already left for the day."

Brian mouthed soundlessly for a few seconds before pushing the door open wider and stepping inside. "How late could you have possibly been?"

Ginny lifted her free hand in a helpless gesture and let it fall to her lap. "It was just a few minutes but the Ministry's receptionist said that I would have to rearrange. I suppose I just…didn't allow enough time," she said, feeling like an arse both for lying to Brian and for the real reason she'd missed the appointment.

To his credit, Brian didn't say 'I told you so', but heaved a sigh and leaned his arm against the doorframe, looking serious. "Well… now what?"

Ginny reached across the heap of homework and lifted a letter that she'd written. "I wrote this to her secretary, basically pleading to arrange the interview with her." She gave a dry laugh. "If she'll even see me now that I've missed one appointment."

"She'll see you," Brian said arrogantly, as if he'd make sure of it. "Will you have enough time, though? To interview her and then write out the essay? When is it due?"

"It's due in a few weeks. I'll just have to try to get it all finished in time. And if I don't … I s'pose I'll have to repeat the course—"

"You're _not _going to repeat the course. We'll think of something."

The total confidence in his statement forced her to smile. "Yeah… we will." Then she tossed her quill down, suddenly restless. "D'you want to go out? I've been inside all afternoon."

After changing their clothes, Ginny and Brian went to a pub that they had been meaning to try out, and wound up running into some friends who were on their way to an outdoor concert in Muggle Paris. Using magic, the group sneaked their way into the concert and sat on a huge blanket, listening to music until the early hours of morning.

It was around two when Ginny finally crawled into bed, thoughts of missed appointments and leftover homework far from her mind, and when she woke up the next morning, it was to The Weird Sisters' "Early Morning Love Spell" blaring in her eardrums. Trying to groan louder than the music in the hopes that the moron would hear her and turn it down, she covered her ears with her hands, then gave up and yanked the pillow from beneath her head and pressed it over her face. To anyone observing, although she couldn't imagine why anyone would ever want to observe her in the morning, it might look like she was trying to suffocate herself.

"A DASH OF PEPPER AND SOME LOVE… LOVE… _LOOOOOOOOVE_…." came Brian's tone-deaf voice over the band's lead singer.

The idea of suffocating herself definitely had merit.

She let out a pathetic, muffled moan before she whipped the pillow from her face and threw it across the room, aiming for the door and missing by a mile. Her desk lamp crashed to the floor and her wand, which was sitting on top of the lamp, let out a series of bangs as it, too, went flying. The music stopped but Ginny barely had time to be relieved before there was a pounding noise that shook the flat.

"GIN? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" came Brian's loud, frantic voice from behind the door as he continued to bang on it with his fist.

"Fine!" she called out croakily, although he obviously couldn't hear her over the racket he was making, so she sprinted from the bed and yanked open the door. "Fine! I'm all right, just please stop making so much noise."

Brian shook his head at her; he was already fully dressed, his hair styled and spiky, and from the glimpse she got of the front room, Ginny could see that he was in the middle of his favorite pastime (besides women, of course)—reading newspapers.

"How can you sleep so late? The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, it's a gorgeous morning!"

She was about to respond shortly, but she found herself heaving a sigh, watching him settle down on the sofa. "I don't know. I wish I was a morning person."

"Well, you could be," he said, lifting the parchment. "It's easy, you'll just have to start setting your Awaking Charm a bit earlier. You'll get used to it." Then he grinned. "Imagine the fun we can have together. You and I, taking the mornings by storm."

Ginny stared at him for a bit, before shaking her head with laughter. Sometimes he made no sense. "Sometimes you make no sense," she told him and he shrugged.

"Take a shower, it'll wake you up a bit."

"I suppose I will. After some coffee."

He rolled his eyes at this.

The shower did wonders. When she stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and refreshed, Ginny was suddenly glad to be awake so early. Brian had taken advantage of the sunny day and opened all the windows in the flat and Ginny did the same in her bedroom. Humming along to the music, pushing the little scary thoughts of Madame Millicent from her mind, she tidied up her room, then pulled out her books. For the rest of the morning and early afternoon Ginny became lost in a world of Mermish verbs, Gobbledygook Dialects and Troll habits.

Nearly five hours later, in addition to finishing the work for this week's lessons, Ginny had started a composition that was due in two weeks, written out an entire study guide for her Elvish exam next month, and read three chapters in her Gobbledygook text book—one of which was the following week's assignment. Feeling quite proud and composing a letter in her head to Hermione in which she bragged about her fabulous study habits, Ginny dressed for work.

The walk to Le Papillon from the flat was a bit lengthy but in the current weather, Ginny loved it. The café itself was a quaint little place, very popular with the students of the university and appealing for tourists. It was the epitome of a Parisian café, with its dark, wooden-paneled walls, white lace tapestries, little round tables surrounded by brightly upholstered chairs. At the front was a long bar that stretched along the length of an entire wall, with dozens of high seats and behind it, were two swinging doors, leading to the kitchen and bad-tempered chef, Pierre.

Ginny walked up the cobblestone pathway, passing the small wrought iron tables and chairs on the patio before slipping through the doors. It was quiet inside, with a few people eating a late lunch or nursing a drink at the bar. Ginny headed behind the bar immediately, smiling at the bartender, Christian, as she switched her cloak for the red apron on one of the hooks in the corner. As she looked around, Ginny noted that the other waitress Aurelie, was nowhere to be seen. She was probably late, Ginny smirked, wondering what her excuse would be this time. Aurelie usually had a different reason for being late, most of which were on the melodramatic side, but always amusing.

"Aurelie's working tonight?" Ginny asked Christian in French. Nobody spoke English in the café.

Christian stood at the bar, cleaning goblet after goblet and stacking them on the low shelves below the bar. "Late," was his response and Ginny smiled knowingly.

She wanting a project so that she didn't have to think about her problems with Madame Millicent so she floated the specials board down and propped herself at the bar, using her wand to write the specials out in carefully lavish cursive, adding little doodles to the side of the board and listening to the hum of Christian's voice muttering Scouring Charms as he washed goblets and cups. There were a few customers who sat down and required her help, but nothing that she and Christian couldn't handle. If it wasn't for the flutter of nervousness that sneaked into her stomach every time she thought of yesterday's misfortune at the Ministry, Ginny would have found the afternoon quite relaxing.

"Right, what's wrong?" asked Christian rather suddenly, and Ginny looked up to see that he was watching her with his eyes narrowed. "Why are you not talking my ear off today? The street seller you fancy isn't coming round?"

Ginny had to grin. "I don't fancy him. No, it's … look, I don't want to talk about it, because if I do, I'll go mad."

Christian lifted a shoulder. "All right."

"It's Madame Millicent!" she exclaimed, slamming her wand down on the board and causing the spaghetti dish she'd been drawing to unravel across the board. As the dire situation she was in came pouring out of her, Christian leaned on the bar and listened patiently as though Ginny was a pissed customer talking about her woes.

"And now I don't know what to do!" she exclaimed. "Should I persist in trying to get an appointment? Or should I just … make the entire interview up?"

"You can't make it up," he said immediately and Ginny blew out a breath which sent the strands of hair that fell over her forehead to fly up.

"I know," she said stubbornly. She'd been hoping that Christian wouldn't disagree with that one.

"Have you spoken to your professor about it? Perhaps there's something he can do."

"No, I haven't," Ginny said thoughtfully, twirling her wand over the board, fixing the spaghetti into an animated flowery design which looped and twisted around the board. "But I suppose I should, shouldn't I? I mean I was really only a few minutes late."

Christian nodded. "You're professor might be able to help you out—that's what he's there for."

Ginny wondered why she hadn't thought about this in the first place; it was the sensible thing to do. But then, Christian usually pointed out the sensible thing to do. He was a bit older than Ginny, in his late twenties, very tall, very dark and very good-looking. She often compared his looks to Brian—even though they didn't look anything alike, they were both incredibly handsome. But that was perhaps the only similarity they shared; Christian and Brian were like night and day.

Just as Ginny was experimenting with more charms on the special's board, two regular customers, Magdalene and Marguerite Maquine, came into the café then. As usual, they ordered Christian's Eel's Eye Potion, a rather sour drink Ginny didn't care for. As Christian brewed the drinks, the exuberant sisters sat down at the bar and began complaining about their neighbor's dogs. It was all they ever talked about and since Ginny found them rather amusing, she continued on with the board, listening to their conversation. She was just smirking at the mental image of Magda Maquine chasing a pink poodle down the street on her broomstick, when the door opened and another regular, a small, elderly wizard hobbled inside on his rickety walking stick. Monsieur Lucien: a very opinionated man who never drank or ate much, but came in for the company and conversation. The man told the exact same stories, had the exact same complaints, and talked about the exact same things every time he called. The only person in the café who really didn't mind talking to him day after day was Christian.

So Ginny sat at the bar, sipping her favorite chocolate with cinnamon, and listening to the Maquine sister's comical stories and Christian and Monsieur Lucien's usual conversation about the weather, the outrageous prices at the market across the street, and a select few politics such as the brash decisions of the Minister of Magic and the ever-present inconvenience of the Apparition laws.

On that particular subject, Ginny couldn't help but agree as the Apparition laws in France were immeasurably inconvenient. Apparently, illegal Apparating had been a huge problem in France and in the years before Ginny had even come to Paris, things were said to have been quite out of hand. It wasn't until three nine year old triplets had Splintched themselves trying to Apparate upon their parents' instructions did the Minister of Magic set up a very strict decree, prohibiting Apparition between short distances within the confines of the country. As a result, the people of France either walked or flew to get where they needed to go if their destination was below the limits of the law or Apparated illegally and paid a hefty fine.

"They're supposed to be concentrating on rebuilding the Floo network," Christian was saying in an attempt to appease old Monsieur Lucien. "That should help matters, at least."

"It's a waste of time, that!" Monsieur Lucien said grumpily. "They've been trying to rebuild the Floo since the majority of it was destroyed in the war—how many years ago? Besides, the Floo network is nothing but an unorganized calamity—people getting lost, nobody opening the grates…"

"In England, it isn't," Ginny offered, looking up from the board. "In England, the Floo network is very organized. It's the main way for underage wizards to travel, really."

"That's England," said Monsieur Lucien grumpily. "The French Ministry was never up to England's par. Ireland is even worse than France, Merlin save them."

"Is it really organized in Britain?" Christian asked Ginny. "It was always such a risk to travel by Floo—will the grate be open, that sort of thing."

"Well, there's always a risk, but it's more organized than how you make it sound," Ginny explained. "Apparating is the higher traveling risk in England."

"I've been Apparating since I was a boy." Monsieur Lucien exclaimed. "There's no risk."

Ginny was about to argue that having that particular mind-set was part of the reason for the Apparition law in the first place, and that there was always the danger of getting Splintched, but instead, she managed a fixed smile and went back to her board. Christian sent her a wink before he turned back to Monsieur Lucien.

A short while later, after Ginny had floated the specials board up to its proper place, the bells over the doors jingled and a huge crowd of people piled inside. She began writing down orders (her Recording Quill had died a painful death during her long homework run this afternoon), and deftly handling the early dinner rush, while Christian fixed all the drinks. During the mayhem, while she was taking down complicated instructions from a middle-aged witch on how to have the chef prepare her soufflé without certain key ingredients, Ginny saw a flash of blonde hair and brightly colored robes dashing passed. Aurelie had arrived at last and she was laden down with huge bags, filled to the brim with what looked like clothes. Ginny didn't have time to stop and wonder what that was all about.

At once, Aurelie began helping with the tables and for the next few hours, Ginny got caught up in work: Banishing food orders to Pierre in the kitchen, giving Christian the drink requests and floating the dinners out to the proper tables. As soon as everyone was happily eating and drinking and all orders had been Banished in, Ginny went back to the bar.

"What's that you're brewing now?" she asked as Christian sprinkled some colorful crystals into the table-top cauldron he used to mix all of his drinks. He bent down and rummaged through a cabinet beneath the bar and emerged, holding up something that had Ginny's eyes lighting up.

"Coconut Concoction?" she said happily.

"Yes," he started to cut the coconut with his wand.

Ginny loved it when he made this drink; the entire café would smell like the tropics for the next hour. "Can you pour me a goblet before you add the Firewhisky?" Ginny asked him, just as he unscrewed the cap of Odgen's.

"I suppose I can," he said, and floated a goblet down from the shelf.

"Mmmm…." Ginny took a sip and relished the drink. "What am I going to do when I'm back in England with no Coconut Concoction?"

"You'll have to Apparate back here."

"Don't think I won't do it either," she said, sucking on a large piece of coconut before taking yet another sip. "Two days of Apparition hell is worth it for this."

"And you've never had it with all the proper ingredients," Christian said, holding up the bottle of Odgen's New Tropically Enhanced Firewhisky before pouring a large amount into the little cauldron he was using.

Ginny rarely drank anything alcoholic.

Just then the kitchen doors flung open and a tall waitress with a straight sheet of blonde hair came bustling out of the kitchen looking harassed. "What's the matter with Pierre? I asked him if we could have chicken for dinner and he looked ready to cut my head off with his cleaver."

"He's not in a very… complacent mood today," Christian said. "Something about the wine shipments being late… I really didn't ask too many questions."

"Well," Aurelie sighed, flipping her long hair behind her shoulders. "I'm sorry I was late, it's a problem I have."

Ginny laughed at her honesty. "Well, admitting that you have a problem is the first step."

"And what's the second?" Aurelie laughed.

"Erm…stop it."

They laughed. "It's not as simple as all that," Aurelie sighed, grinning. "I try to leave on time, honestly I do. But things just happen."

"What sort of things?" Christian asked.

"Well… okay, for instance, today, I was on my way out of the door when I remembered I hadn't fed my fish yet. So it took me twenty minutes to find the fish food because I just haven't the time to clean my flat."

"I know how that goes," Ginny said. "My flat is quite horrendous."

"Well, you have a husband, what do you expect?"

Ginny burst into laughter. "That's what I feel like, honestly! No, rather, I have a child. A very big grown-up child," she said, giggling.

Aurelie lifted a brow. "Big, you say—"

"Do _not_ go any further," Ginny warned her as Aurelie smiled slyly. Aurelie and Brian shared a… certain chemistry.

A crowd of about twenty university students, which Ginny recognized as members of the Student Ministry at L'Acadèmie, came in a while later and Ginny had to magically enlarge several of the tables and push them together to accommodate such a group. Since she was well acquainted with some of them, they insisted on informing her of all the political gossip that was going around the university before she was able to put their order through.

The dinner rush began after a while, and Ginny's Coconut Concoction sat untouched for hours as she ran back and forth from the bar to the floor. It was several hours later when all there was left were a few lone bar customers and lingering diners, who would probably sit at their tables and sip their coffee until the place closed for the night. Ginny cleared her last table, listening with half an ear to a witch at the bar, telling Aurelie a complicated story of how she had met her husband.

"That is so romantic," Aurelie was sighing dreamily. "I mean, that's just… just _fate_, you know? Do you believe in fate, Gin?"

"You mean like destiny? Yeah…" she trailed off as she swung behind the bar, sending her tray of dirty dishes into the kitchen and hearing them plop gently into the soapy water of the sink. "I suppose I do. Do you?"

"Of course. I believe that there is one person out there for each of us. For instance, my person, is very, very tall. He has to be _very _tall to be taller than me. And he has dreamy eyes and he's not just handsome in a conventional way and he positively _exudes_ charm—"

As if on cue, the bells on top the doors jingled.

"And there he is!" Aurelie said happily, pressing a kiss to her palm and tossing it at Brian.

He pretended to catch the kiss in midair and sauntered over. He often came in at night when Ginny was due to leave before everyone else so that he could walk her home. Ginny looked at her watch and saw that it was indeed the end of her shift and she went to the hook in the corner to hang up her apron.

"Ready, Bri?" she asked him, wrapping herself in her light cloak.

But Brian had planted his hands on the bar on either side of Aurelie and the two were flirting unabashedly. "Name the time…" Brian was saying suggestively in his fluent French to Aurelie, who grinned back. "_I'll_ take care of the place."

"If that's the line you use, then stop it," Ginny said to him. "I'm getting a bit tired of waking up to find a different witch in my flat every morning."

Aurelie pretended to look outraged. "I'm hurt… _hurt_, Brian McGuire."

"You're the only one, love, I swear it."

"If you two are quite finished, I'd like to go now?"

"I don't understand why you never let me play with your friends when I come in here," Brian said, straightening. "And _every_ morning? Come on, love, that's an exaggeration."

"All right—every _other_ morning, then."

"You witches will never understand us, am I wrong?" he asked, turning Christian.

"Sorry, I can't talk about that," Christian grinned. "I have to work with them tomorrow."

Ginny finally managed to drag Brian from the café and the two of them stepped out into the cool Spring night. The thought of sitting at her desk with the window open in her bedroom and making a bigger dent in her homework was so appealing, she didn't realize that she was practically racing down the footpath.

"Whoa… why are you walking so fast?" Brian quickened his step to keep up with her. "I was going to suggest that we stop at the Pub for something to eat. I haven't had any dinner."

After a moment's hesitation, Ginny agreed. "All right, but I don't want to stay out too long. I'd love to get some more homework finished tonight—I was on a roll earlier."

The Pub was a little restaurant that reminded both Ginny and Brian of the Leaky Cauldron. They often went there to wax nostalgic about England and because it was far enough from the flat to allow them to Apparate. It was quite a different place in comparison to Le Papillon—less modern, in the style of a medieval pub with dim chandeliers floating low under the high ceiling and round cups of bluebell fire burning on each wooden table. They slid into a booth and placed their orders at once, not even bothering to look at the menus. After the waitress left, Ginny leaned back and enjoyed being off her feet at last.

"I have some great news for you," Brian said, winking at the waitress as she set down their drinks.

"Hmm?"

"I've found out where you can "accidentally" run into Madame Hag."

Ginny sputtered with laughter as she sipped her drink. "Madame Hag?" she grinned. "Anyway, where? What did you find out?"

"There's this charity thing at the Ministry next week. And she's a speaker."

Ginny looked intrigued. "Really?"

"Yes. And… wait for it…"

She rolled her eyes.

"I can get you a ticket."

Her mouth dropped open. "_How_?"

Brian waved his hand. "I've got my connections. You won't be able to attend the actual dinner part where the speeches are taking place, but there's a reception afterwards. Some bloke in my Mermish lesson said he knows the guard and can get a ticket."

"And when is the party?"

"Next Friday. You'll have to look really professional. Dress robes, that sort of thing."

Ginny nodded. "I think I can manage that. If I can't find anything suitable, I'll just borrow from Aurelie. Wow… this is great. So, when can you get the ticket?"

"He said that he'll bring it to class next week."

"I'll be a nervous wreck until then," she declared.

Brian grinned. "Oh, and I forgot—you've had a letter this afternoon. I think from your mum."

Ginny groaned and buried her face her in her hands. "She's probably angry with me. I haven't answered her last one yet."

"Well, it's not a Howler."

"The next one will be," Ginny said on a laugh. "If I know my mother at all." Then she sighed. Like nothing else, the ache for her mother came from nowhere at times, but it was always so strong.

"You'll get to see her very shortly. It's back to England for good…if stress doesn't kill us first."

Ginny forced a laugh, but the truth of Brian's statement left a nervous feeling settling inside her. The thought of leaving Paris for good was quite frightening. However, Ginny remembered something that prevented her from changing the subject.

"We've got to make an appointment with the Magical Moving Troop," she said to Brian, pointing her finger at him. "To arrange everything."

Brian nodded. "I still think we can just shrink all of our things and put them into a suitcase."

"That's the most illegal thing you've ever suggested. We'll need to book them soon. Dad wrote me in his last letter that England's Troop gets booked up rather quickly—sometimes you need to make an appointment months in advance, so I can only imagine how bad France's is. It's probably twice the wait."

Brian nodded wearily. "I don't even want to think about moving until after we've passed all our courses."

Ginny gave a laugh. "Who are you kidding? You'll pass with top marks. It's _me_ that we need to worry about."

"Worse case scenario—you'll have the flat to yourself next term while you retake Educating Trolls," Brian grinned. "And I'll be back in London, making tons of gold translating for the Ministry."

"Don't joke about it. It's very close to the truth now, what with everything riding on this interview."

"You'll be fine."

Ginny sighed. "I still don't have any idea about my future. In a way, I sort of wish I _could _stay here. I'm going to miss everyone at the café…."

Brian slapped his palms on the table and leaned towards her with a deadly look in his eyes. "You have spent five years of your life studying Linguistics—you are not going to stay here and be a waitress for a living."

"It's not a _bad _living… I'm kidding!" she exclaimed at the murderous look on his face. "Do you think I'm serious?"

"I'm not sure about that. You have far too much fun at work."

"Oh, I do not," she said, thinking that she really did. "You know what I wish? I wish I could move Le Papillon into Hogsmeade. Then I would have all of my friends and my family in the same country."

"I'll be sure to ask the Moving Troop the cost for that," Brian said.

"Very funny."

They both looked up as the food arrived and Ginny happily tucked in. She realized she hadn't eaten all day, owing to Pierre's tantrum over fixing dinner and her own lack of cooking skills. Her Mum would be horrified, Ginny thought to herself, grabbing a second piece of bread, to learn that after spending five years in France, her only daughter never learned the French cuisine.

"Tomorrow's Wednesday—what's on the agenda?" Brian asked, taking a sip from his iron goblet.

Wednesday… Ginny sighed with relief at the very thought of Wednesday. She had always made sure to arrange her course and work times so that she could have one day completely free and this term, Wednesday was it. Ginny realized that because of her successful homework run this afternoon, she had virtually the entire day to do as she pleased tomorrow.

"I plan to do absolutely nothing tomorrow," she declared, waving her fork. "Honestly, I think I'll go to my bridge and write letters to everyone… and then I'll do a little window shopping…and _then _I'll buy some fresh flowers for the flat—"

"And flirt with the trolley bloke—"

"Perhaps… and then… I'll go to sleep… really, really early… at nine o'clock," she said dreamily.

"Now you've lost control."

"Shut up."

They finished their meal and after a fight about who was going to pay, Brian lost and stood up to pay the bill. Ginny was alone with her thoughts for a while before she looked up to see what was keeping him.

_Of course_, she muttered to herself, watching as he flirted openly with the waitress. Ginny lifted an amused brow when he glanced back at her and, muttering something to the witch who was eyeing Ginny suspiciously, Brian hurried over.

"Listen, love, I've just made a date."

Ginny shook her head on a laugh. "Why am I not surprised?"

Brian grinned and winked at her. "Don't wait up. And remember to check the locks before you go to bed," he added after he'd started to walk away.

Ginny waved to let him know that she would be fine. Then she grabbed her cloak from the booth, pulled her wand from the inside pocket and Disapparated home.

Continue to Chapter Three

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	4. Chapter Three

**Title: **"Seeking Ginny"

**Author: **Casca

**Rating**: PG

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G

**Summary**: Ginny Weasley has tried for years to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N**: There is no way I will come close to finishing Seeking Ginny before Order of the Phoenix. While I cannot say for sure what will happen to this fic if the fifth book changes anything I've written, I can let you know that Seeking Ginny will either A) become an AU or, B) suffer a few changes, corrections to previously posted chapters if I wish to accommodate whatever new canon we get. Because, as of right now, we will be seeing Ginny again in exactly… ten days. (Stifling the urge to type out a very long, excited shrieking sound.) Thank you VERY much for all the feedback!

**A/N: This chapter has been revised as of October 2005.**

**Chapter Three**

The letter from Hermione that Ginny had forgotten to read remained unopened on her desk for weeks. After Ginny finally got around to reading it, several hexes came to mind, all of which she promised to cast on herself the minute she was alone.

_I don't know many of the details, _wrote Hermione, _since he's been on assignment, but the Daily Prophet reported that Harry is supposed to attend a series of meetings at France's Ministry over the course of the next few weeks. If you happen to run into him, would you ask him if he can receive owls? You know how he is with keeping in contact and I want to be sure that he can receive letters because sometimes when he's on assignments…._

Ginny had stared at the words, mentally accusing herself of being a complete arse for allowing the knowledge of Harry's visit to Paris remain concealed in an unopened letter for bloody weeks when all of a sudden, a decrepit-looking Errol came flying through the window, slamming right into the back of her head. The letter from her mum carried yet another warning of Harry's Paris whereabouts, this one delayed not by Ginny's laziness, but by the elderly owl. After cursing herself and her bird, Ginny apologized to Errol, then allowed herself a long, ironic laugh that the information she would have been quite happy to know came too late.

In her letter, Molly explained that Harry would probably be dreadfully busy in Paris and have no time even to look Ginny up, so she may want to owl him. _Perhaps you two can get together to catch up_, she'd written.

Catch up.

Ginny'd had a good chuckle at that—her mother had used the same words Ginny had when actually inviting Harry. But that had been a few days ago and she had no intentions of sending him an owl to repeat her offer. It was obvious that he was very busy in Paris and quite frankly, so was she.

As promised, Brian had been able to secure a ticket to the event that would put Ginny and Madame Millicent in the same room together and Ginny had spent all week putting together her interview in case she was able to charm Madame into sitting for it at the convention. However, when Friday arrived, it seemed as though everything was preventing her from actually getting home to get ready for the formal event. Her Gobbledygook professor asked her to stay after the lesson so that he could talk to her about her essay and Ginny spent almost thirty minutes listening to him praise her for a job well done. She was, of course, pleased with that, but the minutes were ticking by and she still had to go to Aurelie's house to borrow some formal robes.

And as though she hadn't wasted enough time at l'Academie, nearly two hours later, Ginny found herself inside her friend's colorful bedroom surrounded by more dresses and robes than Ginny had ever seen in her life. There were so many she didn't know how to choose.

"I think I like these…" she said, studying her reflection in a full-length mirror. They were long panels of dark blue that pulled at the shoulder and tucked at the waist, then flowed to the tops of her feet and halfway down her arms. Formal, business-like and not showy at all. "But I can't borrow them, they're way too expensive."

Aurelie promptly rolled her eyes. "Three Sickles and four Knuts at Celine's Second Hand Robes."

Ginny's mouth fell open. "Three Sickles?"

"I know how to find a bargain."

"Clearly."

Thanking her friend profusely, Ginny carefully wrapped up the robes so that they wouldn't become wrinkled and swiftly raced home. Once she was showered and dressed and feeling taller than ever from Aurelie's shoes, Ginny grabbed the little invitation card from her bedside table and hurried from her bedroom. She stopped in her tracks as Brian let out a low whistle.

"It's times like these when I wonder why you and I never did get together, love," he said, grinning.

Normally, Ginny flirted back when he made comments like these, but this time she found herself biting her lip nervously. "Do I look like a tart?"

"Among other things," he said appreciatively and Ginny huffed out a breath.

"I don't want to look like a tart tonight, Brian," she said between her teeth.

"I know, I was only joking. You look very sophisticated."

"Thank you," she said graciously. "You don't look so bad either."

"I know," he said, so dismissively that Ginny shook her head on another laugh. "Let's hope Silvia thinks so."

"Silvia? Do I know her?" she asked, clasping a bracelet on her arm.

"Silvia Gordon. That American witch, she was in Elvish with you last term."

Ginny nodded. "Right, well, I've heard _she's _a tart, so you won't have any trouble there."

He grinned. "So, d'you think you might be home early?"

Ginny started to say she didn't know, and then she narrowed her eyes at him. "Why? Oh, don't say it," she said, turning red. "Look, just… make sure you've cast the proper … Silencing Charm, all right?"

He jerked his head towards his bedroom. "Already done."

She let out a laughing breath and drew her wand. "Have _fun_."

"Always. Good luck, Gin."

"Thanks."

The Ministry had set up an Apparition spot located in the middle of its grounds, just outside the function. It was a different building than the one Ginny had been to earlier that week and was adorned with a huge banner that read in bold letters, the name of the event: International Auror's Convention.

She walked up a long, winding pathway and the second she stepped inside the building, a guard stopped her to ask for her invitation. Holding her breath, Ginny looked on as the guard inspected the invitation carefully, then breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded his head and ushered her into the ballroom. Ginny bit her lip to hold back a grin. She was _in_.

There was a hum of chatter as hundreds of people, dressed mostly in black (Ginny cast a tentative glance down at her blue robes), milled around in small groups, sipping from delicate goblets and speaking to one another in dull voices. Ginny wondered briefly if she would ever have to attend something like this if she took a Ministry job. But then, her profession would not be nearly as prominent as Aurorship, so perhaps not.

It occurred to her as she scanned the ballroom that she didn't really know what Millicent looked like; she'd seen her photograph in a few history books, but she had looked young in those—nowhere near what her age was currently rumored to be. Ginny's eyes roamed the sea of faces, trying to decipher which one might be older than everyone else and after about ten seconds of finding many possible candidates, Ginny decided to ask.

"Excuse me," she said quietly to the first person she saw—a witch who also looked a few hundred years old. "Do you know where I might find Madame Mardeax?"

"Why, that's her right there, dear," she said pointing discreetly to possibly the tallest woman Ginny had ever seen.

She was standing with a small group of people, all of whom seemed to be staring up at her in awe and hanging onto every word she was saying. Ginny bit her lip and idly took a few steps towards them, wondering how to go about this. She decided that it would be best to approach her when she wasn't in the middle of a conversation; however, that was going to be quite a challenge, since it was clear that Madame might be something of a popular lady here. She remembered Brian had said that she was a speaker tonight.

She would normally walk up to the group and introduce herself, but as she stood in the middle of the lavish ballroom next to a table of sweets that would make Ron keel over in ecstasy, a little nagging feeling was telling her that it would be poor taste to use the group as a shield between herself and Millicent. Ginny wondered what to do for a moment, staring down at the largest bowl of rice pudding that she had ever seen, and finally decided that she would go with her instincts and wait for Millicent's conversation to finish. Inching closer and pretending to be interested in the array of desserts, her eyes wandered to the group every few seconds, prepared to make a beeline when they finished.

"Pardon," said a familiar voice as an arm reached out to take a napkin from the table.

Ginny's brows snapped together. _Harry_.

Their eyes locked over the rhubarb tart. In her mind's eye, Ginny could picture the look on her own face mirroring his—a completely unflattering mask of shock.

There was a momentary pause before,

"Ginny?" he asked in disbelief.

She was speechless. Then something clicked in her mind. International Auror's Convention.

_Auror_.

"Harry," she said, surprise evident in her voice. "I…" She was about to say that she hadn't expected to see him here, but that was a bit of an odd thing to say, considering his profession. He was _the _Auror. "I suppose it's a bit obvious why you're here," she said finally, allowing a smile as her eyes darted towards Millicent to make sure she hadn't left. "I can't believe I didn't think that I'd see you here."

"What—what are you doing here?" Harry asked her with a smile and though Ginny could tell he was trying not to look or sound too puzzled, she could also sense a bit of relief on his face. She understood why, being the only person his age for miles.

"I need to speak with Madame Mardeax," she said, gesturing to her. "It's an assignment for one of my courses."

Harry's brows were drawn in bewilderment as he looked at Millicent for a moment, and then back to Ginny. "Oh… well, if I'd have known you were coming, I would have looked for you sooner. It's dead dull here."

Ginny smiled. "I actually didn't know I was coming until last minute. I missed her the other day at the Ministry and a friend of mine was able to get an invitation for me. I'm taking the chance that I might be able to discuss my assignment with her, but it seems as though every time I look at her, she's talking to a huge group."

Harry nodded, his eyes traveling around the room with an unfocused kind of boredom that told Ginny he was very used to this sort of thing. "You're probably going to have to join the group if you want to talk to her. Don't ask me why, but she's sort of popular at these things," he said in a bored voice and Ginny bit her lip nervously, looking back at the rather formidable looking group that Millicent stood with.

"I was going to pop into your café," Harry said after a while, seemingly being woken out of his reverie of staring blankly around the room. "But I've been a bit busy and…."

"Oh, it's no problem. I wasn't working that much this week anyway, I probably wouldn't have been there if you had."

This seemed to suffice. Harry nodded.

After what seemed like forever, standing with Harry looking around the room as though something might change about it, Ginny started to feel the tedium of the place and its people creep up on her. She was doing the same thing he was—only she was watching Millicent and her group, something that was even more hopeless to change. However, just when her mind began to travel elsewhere, it appeared as though a few people in the group were leaving! Ginny straightened and shook her head slightly to clear the fog of dullness that had settled over her mind, watching as two people drifted off. At last, Millicent nodded politely to the remaining people and turned to walk away. Ginny's heart gave a leap.

"Will you excuse me, Harry?"

Harry looked at her in surprise as though he'd forgotten that she was standing there and nodded.

For a lady who was rumored to be almost two hundred years old, she moved rather quickly, Ginny thought, as she hurried after her through the reception area and into the foyer. Just when she thought there was nowhere else for her to go, as it appeared she was walking right into a wall, Madame pulled open a door and disappeared behind it. When Ginny came closer, she stopped and saw a little plaque on the door that read _Witches_.

Well, this was an unexpected surprise, she thought happily, arranging her robes a bit and tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. This would give Ginny ample opportunity to catch her the minute she stepped out. She couldn't help a little grin of excitement. She was making this happen. Straightening her shoulders and fixing her robes once more, Ginny clasped her hands together in front of her, stepped to the side of the door, and waited.

And waited.

Almost twenty minutes later, she looked at her wrist, forgetting that she hadn't worn a watch and furrowed her brow. How long had she been in there?

"Did it go alright?" said a voice at her side, making her jump.

"Oh. Harry." He was standing there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his formal business robes, looking mildly curious. "No, I haven't had the chance to speak to her yet."

He lifted a brow. "Well, what have you been…." His eyes traveled to the sign on the door. "Ah… waiting?"

Ginny puffed out a breath. "She's been in there for—" she went to look at her missing watch again, "I dunno how long, but it has to have been at least twenty minutes or so."

Harry frowned and they peered at each other as though thinking the same thing.

"You don't think…" Ginny began in a low voice, her gaze traveling back to the door. Perhaps Madame _had _fallen ill… or… or worse. The thought that sprang into her head was _very_ terrible and Ginny tucked her tongue in her cheek, trying not to smile. It was a horrid thing to think, honestly, but then again, she _would_ be off the hook on the interview if… the woman was no longer able to be interviewed.

Harry was looking at her, his eyes amused as though he knew exactly where her mind was going.

"She's fine," Ginny said firmly, refusing to laugh and looking back at the door just as it flung open. Madame Millicent herself, very much alive and towering over both Ginny and Harry, stepped out of the bathroom and walked swiftly away.

Ginny looked at Harry, startled.

"_Go_," he urged her and the word seemed to act on Ginny as an acceleration.

Nodding, she dashed off, back into the ballroom, weaving her way in and out of the crowd, keeping a steady pace as she tried to catch up with her. But the witch was moving so quickly and the only way for Ginny to quicken her pace would be to push people down. Just as she was nearing her, she found herself standing still, watching in horror as another person seized the chance before she could.

"Millicent, darling, where have you _been_?" exclaimed possibly the shortest witch Ginny had ever seen. "My husband has been _dying_ to meet you!"

"Now, now, Adélaïde, I wouldn't go that far!" joked the husband, possibly the shortest _wizard_ Ginny had ever seen. He came up to about Millicent's knee.

Completely exasperated, Ginny wandered back to the desserts table and pretended to look interested in its contents again. People were going to think that she was the most undecided person in the world if she kept staring at all the food and not doing anything about it.

"Still no luck?" Harry asked, appearing out of nowhere as usual, and looking bored.

Ginny sighed a bit. "I didn't catch her in time."

"D'you want me to introduce you?" he offered.

Ginny hesitated. It would make things easier, it was true, but… she just couldn't bring herself to accept. Looking apologetic, she declined, "Actually, I think perhaps it will make a better impression if I approached her myself. I did miss the appointment with her secretary and everything…."

Harry nodded, accepting this without a word, and resumed his slow observation of the room again, leaving Ginny to observe the only thing that interested her right now: a certain raven-haired witch who seemed more and more unapproachable every minute.

"There you are, Potter. I thought you couldn't find a date! Who is this lovely young witch?"

They were suddenly in the presence of a man who looked to be in his forties with brown whiskers, whose heavily-browed eyes were looking back and forth between Harry and Ginny. When Ginny realized that he had been referring to herself, she managed a fixed smile.

"I couldn't," Harry said shortly, covering the pause quickly. "I've just run into a friend of mine. Ginny Weasley, this is Sam Wells."

"Nice to meet you," Ginny said, smiling obligingly at the man who looked ten times Harry's age and shook his proffered hand.

Listening with half an ear to the incredibly boring conversation between Harry and Sam Wells (Harry didn't seem very enthusiastic about the subject matter either), Ginny watched as three more people joined Millicent's group, leaving a grand total of… ten. No, eleven.

"So you're… almost finished with university, then?" Harry asked her after Sam Wells had left. Since she knew that the group of eleven wasn't going to disperse anytime soon, she turned towards Harry. He was holding a drink in his hand and his demeanor seemed… mild. Mild and detached. She had to smile to herself.

"Yes," Ginny nodded. "I'll be completely finished at the end of July."

"End of July?" he asked curiously. "Isn't that a bit late?"

"Well, we have three terms to each year. Last term of the year begins in May and will go until the last week in July," she explained. "It's the shortest of the year."

Ginny chanced a glance over his shoulder to see if Millicent had made any progress in getting away. No such luck—it seemed as if even more people had joined in.

Harry followed her gaze, then turned back with an apologetic look on his face. "She's not making this easy for you, is she?"

Ginny smiled. "Well, I thought it wouldn't take very long tonight, but I suppose I'm just stuck here for a while. I'll catch up with her sooner or later."

He lifted a brow. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Um… no, that's all right."

"Are you sure? I was about to refill mine."

Ginny gestured to his goblet. "What's that you're drinking?"

He lifted the goblet and peered into it. "I don't even know… somebody suggested it. It's a little strong, though."

"Well, all right then. Something non-alcoholic."

"Okay, I'll be right back."

After he left, Ginny turned her focus onto Millicent and her group, wondering how much longer it would take and if she would be sympathetic to Ginny's situation. All of these people seemed rather important and Millicent would be obliged to converse with them, but Ginny was just a student. This thought had her pondering whether or not she should accept Harry's offer to introduce them. No doubt an introduction from Harry Potter would be enough for Madame to be impressed with Ginny.

"Here you go."

Ginny looked up to see Harry holding out a goblet to her. "Oh, thanks." She accepted and took a sip. It was some sort of thick fruity blend that had an unusually good taste—although Christian made better.

"Is that all right? I told the barman something non-alcoholic."

"This is great," she smiled. "Thanks."

Harry nodded and they lapsed into silence. Glancing at him, she thought that it would be so easy to ask him for an introduction. He'd already offered and… no. No, she just couldn't. This was her problem, not Harry's and she would be able to handle it on her own.

As they stood in silence, sipping their drinks, Ginny thought that if she hadn't been so focused on Millicent, she would have felt bad for not engaging Harry in conversation, but as it was, he didn't seem too interested in talking. Some of his colleagues spoke to him and he answered them accordingly, but their conversations didn't last long—he didn't seem in the habit of keeping up with conversing after saying what needed to be said. Ginny wished that the Auror she was interested in at the moment was as anti-social as Harry—it would make this go much quicker.

Just then, she saw something that made her straighten; someone from Millicent's group excused herself, and the rest of them seemed to be dispersing. Ginny set down her glass. "I suppose that's my cue."

Harry nodded, stepping aside. "Good luck."

And so began the real chase. It was absolutely absurd. Ginny strolled around the room, while Madame Hag, as she'd begun calling her, went from group to group, talking about everything from complicated Ministry statistics to her latest holiday in China. Ginny kept glancing at her wrist, before she finally realized there was a grandfather clock in the corner of the reception hall.

It was nearly two hours after she'd broken away from Harry, when Millicent stepped from her party and began to head towards the foyer again. Ginny walked swiftly after her, vowing to go inside the loo and approach her in there—after all, it was time for drastic measures. However, when she yanked open the door and stepped inside, every single cubicle was wide open. The room was empty.

"Oh, no," she said feebly, rushing out of the room and looking all around the entrance. Her eyes fell on the cloak counter, which was located next to the reception entrance. Sighing wearily, she approached an elf who was barely visible behind the low wall and inquired if he had seen Millicent.

"Yes, Madame just picked up her cloak and left for the evening."

Ginny's eyes slid closed.

"Will you be needing your cloak, then, Madame?"

"I don't have one. Thank you," she smiled at the formally dressed elf and turned numbly, letting out a long, slow breath. She was positively fuming and every ounce of the anger that bubbled inside of her was directed at herself. What on earth was wrong with her? She had blown it, completely blown the entire thing and why? Because she hadn't been fast enough? Because she hadn't set aside her pride and asked Harry to introduce her?

Disgusted, she glanced back into the reception room; her eyes fell on him. He was standing apart from most of the people, leaning against a tall pillar, the very same drink still in his hand. The polite thing to do was say goodbye to him, but embarrassment welled inside of her for the situation she was now in. And she couldn't help a bit of resentment. He hadn't been able to find a date to this function…not even his "old friend" who just happened to be living close by. She shook her head, suddenly wanting to get home so she could have a proper temper tantrum in which she could wallow in self-pity.

But she lingered at the door for too long. From across the room, Harry looked up and caught her eye. Ginny forced a smile, giving him a wave to indicate that she was leaving and she had to work to keep the annoyance off her face when he pushed away from the pillar and walked towards her.

"Did you talk to her, then?"

"No, I never got the chance. She left."

His face fell and Ginny looked away. "What are you going to do?"

"Repeat the bloody course next term," she said dryly, shaking her head.

Harry's eyes bugged out slightly, making Ginny feel like bigger idiot than she already was. "Seriously?"

She gave a laughed. "Well this interview is practically worth half of my final mark… I dunno… I'm still waiting to hear from her secretary so… perhaps there's a chance it could work out. It's out of my control, though."

"Well, what did you need to speak to her about? I mean is there something I can do?"

She smiled. "I wish you could, but I had to interview her about her Troll research and I'm sure she's all booked up by now."

Harry sighed, looking thoughtful. Then he pulled a face. "Why does Millicent get to leave? I'm stuck here until the end."

Ginny couldn't help laughing. "Well, I suppose she needed to get her beauty sleep," she said, wearily attempting a joke.

At once, Harry grinned. "There's not enough sleep in the world."

They laughed. "Oh, well. I should probably go home and get mine," she went to glance at her watch again, but it wasn't there. She felt somewhat guilty for leaving now that she actually did have the time to talk to Harry, but her mind was an abundance of questions and worries and she was anxious to go home and have that temper tantrum. Hopefully, Brian was home early and she could take it out on him.

When she arrived home, however, Brian was nowhere to be seen, however, the door to his bedroom was closed firmly and Ginny most definitely saw light underneath the door. Stifling the urge to throw a pillow from the sofa at the back of his door, or maybe kick it, Ginny marched into her bedroom, making a production of kicking aside the mess she'd made getting ready earlier, and flinging her dress aside before remembering that it was Aurelie's and hastily picking it up to hang it neatly on a hanger. She pulled on some comfortable nightclothes, then stalked around her bedroom, cleaning the clutter rather violently. And noisily, she thought, smiling wickedly at the wall she shared with Brian's room.

Every time she went over it in her head, all of her reasoning lead to the only solution available—that she would have to repeat the lesson next term. And while she had been experiencing a great deal of panic lately over leaving Paris at the end of term, every time her thoughts landed on not being able to go home, it felt like an arrow was piercing her heart.

She wanted more than anything to be home. Just _be_ there. And for good, not a brief visit. It was a feeling she got every once in a while when she was lying in bed—a sort of shock that she was living here, so far away from her family and her home. That was when she became homesick, when she counted how many years, months, and weeks it was until she could leave.

Sometimes Ginny couldn't believe she'd lasted for the complete five years, that finishing, actually _finishing_, was within reach. It was an accomplishment that left her with a great deal of pride…but it was time to go home and revel in it a bit. She'd return to England having completed university in another country, having lived another life. People would be proud of her and probably a little surprised. It was time for that now. She was _ready_.

Ginny fell asleep that night, thinking about the day she would finally step into her kitchen. It would be a party at her house with all her brothers and her friends and everyone… and it would be at the end of _this _term.

She awoke on Saturday morning with every intention of owling in sick to work and going to the Ministry of Magic. It had been a week since Ginny had contacted the secretary with no response. If Madame Mardeax needed to be chased, Ginny would chase her.

Brian wasn't even awake as she stepped into the living room bright and early, casting an uneasy glance at his closed bedroom door and wondering briefly what had gone on her flat that she hadn't heard last night.

Not wanting to delve further into thought about that, she grabbed her wand, ready to Apparate, when a flutter at the window had her turning. It was an owl that she didn't recognize and when she went to the window and saw the little piece of parchment folded into a neat square, her stomach gave a low drop. A circular crest in deep navy blue was sealed on the fold. The Ministry Crest.

Her fingers trembling, she opened it.

_Miss Weasley,_

_I do apologize, but Madame Mardeax has departed this morning for a six-month holiday in Greece. You will have to rebook when she returns._

_Jeannette Floréat_

_The Office of Millicent Mardeax_

Needless to say, it was a long day. Ginny spent most of it at work, waiting to go home, but then, she had no idea why she wanted to go back to the flat anyway—things wouldn't change once she got there. If anything, she would focus on her problems more when she didn't have anything to do.

And she would still be in the same predicament there… the same trouble.

She was working until the café closed that night which, on a Saturday, meant very late. Christian and a new waitress with whom Ginny wasn't well acquainted were working with her this shift and Ginny was rather glad that Aurelie wasn't there. She just didn't feel like having a good time—and Aurelie could never understand that; no matter what hardships people faced, she always expected to have fun and laugh.

But Ginny felt like crying. Or fuming. In fact, what held her together all day was the prospect of nighttime when she would go home and crawl into bed and have a good cry or maybe another temper tantrum.

And she wouldn't tell Brian McGuire anything, she thought stubbornly. There he'd been, locked up in his bedroom all morning with some witch while Ginny had been in the living room dealing with the letter of death. _Brian_ would get to go back to England at the end of term. _Brian_ would get to go home. Then she sighed somewhat wistfully. She had so been looking forward to introducing him to her brothers and meeting his mother.

She caught Christian's eye and forced a smile. She was making him worry, she knew. From the look on her face upon walking into the café earlier this afternoon, he'd inquired if it was that bad. She'd nodded miserably and, for fear that she would get choked up, refrained from talking about it anymore that night. She was glad that he didn't press her to tell him.

After they closed up for the night, Christian forced her to walk with him to his flat because it was a legal Apparition distance to hers and she did so without arguing. All she needed was to get mugged or cursed on the way home.

Completely depressed when she finally made it back to the flat, and becoming more so by the second when she noticed that Brian wasn't around a_gain_ when she needed him, Ginny went to the windowsill to sit with the only person who loved her. Her owl.

She would see Andel in Troll tomorrow… what was she going to say? _I couldn't catch her; she was just too quick for me_. Ginny groaned. It sounded so stupid when she thought about it now. She should have just interrupted the bloody conversations. She should have been more forward, she should have been _herself _and not worry about stuffy old people and their opinions of her. Harry must have thought she was so stupid, watching Millicent and not doing anything about it.

The panic was just starting to set in when her eyes fell on a piece of parchment with her name scrawled across, lying on the sideboard.

"Why didn't you tell me I had an owl?" she asked Maurice who appeared to shrug.

Not leaving her position on the windowsill, Ginny leaned over, stretched her arm towards the sideboard and grabbed the letter, glancing at it as she straightened.

Seeing her first name had never before been the cause of such a violent reaction to her nerves.

It was Harry's handwriting. A flash of memories washed over her. For a minute she was sixteen and standing in the kitchen of the Burrow and a thrill was coursing through her from receiving a letter from him. And as if she was back there, back in time, her heart began pounding at she opened the folded parchment.

_Ginny,_

_I was wondering how things are going with your assignment. Have you heard from Millicent's secretary yet? If she is booked up, I'd be willing to help you out. I don't know if this would work, but I've had a couple of years experience working with Trolls. Do you think that you would be able to interview me instead? I don't work most nights, so I have the time. Let me know. _

_Harry_

She hadn't realized it, but she'd been holding her breath while she read the letter. She let it out in a rush and read it again.

Her first thought was, _yeah,_ _right._ She could never, _ever_ interview Harry. That would be just too much of an imposition, she could deal with this on her own, she would just have to—

What? She would just have to do _what_? There was _nothing_. There was no solution she had planned as a last resort. Everything relied on Andel fixing the problem and Ginny knew that he wasn't going to be happy with her dilemma—it all stemmed from her being late to make an appointment.

She read it again. And she couldn't help the smile. Harry Potter. Harry _Potter._ Harry Potter, who refused to give interviews to _any_body. Harry Potter who hadn't _spoken_ to a journalist since leaving Hogwarts. If there was any way to impress Andel with a solution to her problem, this was it.

On the other hand, she hated taking advantage of Harry's sense of responsibility. His offer was his classic Weasley obligation, she could see that coming a dragons' tail length away.

But still. He _had _offered. And this would not only put her name down in l'Academie d'Aubervive history, but it would get her back home at the end of the semester, just in time for her birthday.

Ginny bit her lip and glanced down the letter again. After a few minutes more of contemplation, and casting a great deal of pride aside, she picked up a quill and started to write back.

Chapter Four

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	5. Chapter Four

Title: "Seeking Ginny" Author: Casca 

**Rating**: PG

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G

**Summary**: Ginny Weasley has tried for years to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: This chapter has been revised as of October 2005**

**Chapter Four**

The evening was warmer than a typical spring night in Paris. Ginny stood with her shoulder leaning against a tall lamppost, her sweater hanging over one arm, and her eyes roaming over the many people out on the street tonight. Children with no cloaks on ran around and called out to each other as they played their games; adults sat in front of houses, shops and restaurants, talking or yelling out to the little ones; and people her own age, mostly couples, walked down the pathway hand in hand. Ginny watched them stroll at a pace that was unhurried… as if they had all the time in the world.

She wondered what it was like to feel that way.

Over the past few days, her life had seemed like a very fast hourglass with the minutes, hours and days trickling away quickly, with no intentions of stopping or even slowing down. Anticipating Monday morning when she would finally speak to Professor Andel had seemed to cause time to speed up, and just when she had planned it all out, just when she had become used to the idea of throwing herself at her professor's mercy, Harry's offer had arrived, sending everything into disarray again.

The night she'd received Harry's letter, Ginny had prolonged making a decision for hours and in the end, she'd decided ambiguousness was the best course of action. She'd written a letter to him, stating that it was unbelievably kind for him to offer, but there was a chance that the interview would be published in the university newspaper and she knew how he felt about publicity. However, she'd phrased the letter in such a way that it forced him to write back to give her a final answer.

She didn't want to have to take his help. She didn't want to bank on Harry's obligation towards her and her family. She wanted him to _want_ to help her out—or at least repeat the offer. And to her great surprise and surprising relief he did.

_Ginny,_

_It's no problem, really. Even if your interview does get published, I trust that you won't have made a mockery of it, like some journalists would. I'm happy to help you out. I insist. Just let me know when it's good for you. Like I said, I'm available most evenings._

_Harry_

After reading the letter twice, Ginny had decided that it was probably the right thing to do. She knew that she hadn't put up much of a fight and had virtually let Harry make the decision for her, but it wasn't something that she minded right now. Sometimes, it was necessary to put pride aside and take help… and Ginny was too relieved that things were going to work out to be ashamed that she couldn't do it on her own.

Trying to hide a smile, Ginny'd approached Andel after his lesson next day and proceeded to weave a tale about having contacted Madame's secretary to arrange the interview—only to find out that Madame herself would be on holiday for the next six months. Trying to look crestfallen, Ginny had managed a straight face through Andel's outrage at this and threat to write a not-so-friendly owl to the secretary. She'd hastened to explain (with a look of great humbleness) that there was no need to be angry now, what was done was done and she did have another candidate who had offered if Professor would be so kind to approve.

To say that Andel had been impressed by the mention of Harry was a bit of an understatement—his bug-like eyes bugged out even more, his grunt-like voice grunted frantically and he repeated Harry's name so many times in his loud, booming voice, that Ginny was sure the entire university was listening.

"YES… YES, OF _COURSE_, MISS WEASLEY." He drew himself up proudly. "A student of mine… interviewing…" he mumbled in a somewhat softer voice that echoed nonetheless.

Ginny smiled prettily.

"WELL, OFF YOU GO THEN! I EXPECT YOU'LL NEED TO PREPARE FOR YOUR BIG INTERVIEW. IF YOU NEED SOME EXTRA TIME, DON'T HESITATE TO ASK… THAT'S WHAT I'M HERE FOR."

But all Ginny had heard were the words ' yes, of course' and when she closed the classroom door behind her, she let out an excited squeal of victory. Grinning back at the scattered students who had looked her way, she practically skipped out of the building.

She owled Harry immediately and received a response rather quickly, agreeing with her suggestion for meeting on Thursday evening at the off-campus library. Clutching the letter to her chest, Ginny flopped onto her bed and, after bouncing a few times, stared up at her ceiling, unable to hide her to excitement. She was fully confident that everything would work out now. She was going to finish university _this_ term, dammit, or she would go mad trying.

Thursday rolled around like it was nobody's business and Ginny became so increasingly panicked as the day progressed, that she hadn't looked over the list of questions she had prepared for Madame Hag. She needed to alter them a bit to suit Harry and though she had started to do it a few times over the past few days, she had been repeatedly interrupted by trivial things like customers at her job or professors in her other lessons. During the day on Thursday was her last chance, but as irony would have it, time just wasn't on her side. Her lessons had all run quite late that day; she'd spent the two hours before her shift working with several other students on a group assignment, an appointment that had already been arranged; and later, the café had been unusually busy for a weekday afternoon, which left her without any break at all, much less the dinner hour she'd planned to use. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of the library, waiting for him, feeling as though she had Apparated through time, starting the moment she had arranged the interview and instantly winding up here, minutes before she was supposed to meet him.

"Ginny?"

She jumped. Harry. Her brain seemed to stop working so hard. He was standing in front of her looking tall in a pair of loose jeans and a dark sweater that pulled slightly over his shoulders… shoulder that were… much broader than she'd remembered. His inky black hair was in chaos from the wind, his eyes dark from the night and for a moment, all she could do was stare at him, struck that he was _here,_ in Paris.

"Hey," she said finally, jerking herself out of her daze and folding the notes that she had been trying to look over.

"Sorry, I'm late," he was muttering, "I got lost."

Her brow lifted. "Oh, were the directions I sent you confusing? I was so preoccupied when I wrote them–"

"No, no," Harry assured her, "they were fine. I'm just used to Apparating everywhere."

"You would be spoiled, wouldn't you?" she laughed. "Whenever anyone from home visits, all they do is complain about the Apparition laws around here."

"Well, we wouldn't complain if it wasn't so pointless," he said dryly, following Ginny to the front doors of the library and stepping inside after her. Grinning at his sullen comment, she lead him to a section that was designated for group work, separated by a low wall that was enchanted with a Muting Charm as a courtesy to the rest of the library. The section was empty except for a small cluster of people working quietly at a table in the corner.

"This is a big library," Harry commented, as they sat down at a table near the window and Ginny began to arrange her quill and notes.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah… the university's library is stocked strictly with linguistics material and it's a bit small, so many of the students come here to study," Ginny said as she flipped through her notes, looking for the correct sheet. When she finally pulled it out from the bottom of the pile, she looked up to find Harry slowly examining the library with the same bored, yet thoroughly engrossed expression he'd sported at the Auror's Convention. He had just settled his gaze on the handsome wooden ceiling beams when Ginny spoke.

"Alright, I have this list prepared from when I was going to interview Millicent, so I'll just have to change a few things as we go," she explained, but her voice trailed off as her eyes traveled down the list of complicated questions that she had researched for an interview that would never take place.

It occurred to her that the interview she had prepared for Millicent didn't need to be altered to suit Harry—it needed to be changed completely. The questions were absolutely ludicrous when put in context with a twenty-four year old male auror. Half of them pertained to juggling motherhood and aurorship at the same time, and the other half were about Millicent's experience with Trolls, all very specific topics derived from Ginny's research.

"Erm…" she said, glancing up to now find Harry's eyes fixed on the group of students in the corner, most of them female, who had apparently finished studying and were giggling and gushing in throaty French. Ginny chewed on her lip and considered telling him that her predicament was a bit more complex than she'd thought, but realized there was no way to make it sound anything but completely irresponsible.

_Listen, Harry, I know you took the time from your busy, meaningful life to help me out, it's only that I got caught up at the café I call work so I couldn't really prepare for the interview that the entire wizarding world has craved since the end of the war._

Right.

"Okay," she said loudly, snapping him out of the staring coma he was falling into. Ginny smiled brightly at him. "Listen, I… I've been so pressed for time, that I didn't really get the chance to look at this, but … it appears that we'll have to change a bit more than I thought to make the questions pertain to you," she said, looking at him apologetically. "Just… if you can just bear with me, I'll be able to make them up as I go along."

"Er…okay," Harry said, looking a bit unsure.

"Right." Ginny plowed on. "So the first two questions ask for your name and date of birth, but I already know the answers to those," she said, sending him a grin before returning to the list. "And then… well, I know where you attended wizarding school, don't I, so that one is done…."

Ginny found herself eliminating the next question… and the next one… and the two after that, as they all pertained to Millicent's childhood in London. Not wanting to pry into his life at the Durselys, which Ginny knew was not a subject that he liked to talk about, she kept reading the list, mentally skipping over many questions on the first page.

"Ah, here's one," she said, almost excitedly. "Can you talk about your strengths as a young witch—_wizard_, sorry—in training? At Hogwarts?"

He cleared his throat and thought about it for a few seconds… then a few more. "Well," he said at last, "Defense Against the Dark Arts was my strongest subject, wasn't it?"

"Right. Anything else?"

"Er…flying?" he asked uncertainly.

"Flying." The smile came automatically. She met his eyes. "D'you still fly, Harry?"

The corner of his mouth turned up. "No… Apparating's faster."

Ginny shook her head. "Not even for fun?"

"No, no time," was his sheepish reply.

"Neither do I. It's actually a bit strange. Everyone flies in France because of the Apparition laws, but I've taken to walking everywhere."

"The laws are stupid," he said again and Ginny shook her head.

"Right, any other strengths?"

"Er… not really… I was a pretty average student, wasn't I?"

She had bite back a smile. "Average" was certainly not a word any journalist would dare to use in an article about Harry… then again, she wasn't a journalist.

"Did you… particularly enjoy a subject… something that you weren't great at, but took pleasure in?"

"Er…" He screwed up his face. "Not really."

Ginny nodded, watching him, and trying to think of something she could ask him about Hogwarts that wouldn't seem as though she were prying. Then she wanted to roll her eyes at herself. This was a bloody interview, prying was inevitable!

"Can you talk about what it was like, being at Hogwarts your first year?"

Harry furrowed his brow. "What … do you mean?"

"Well, for me, I had grown up hearing all about the place. It was built up in my mind, as it is for most children from wizarding families… but for you…well, only because you hadn't known anything about the wizarding world before then, it would be as though you were Muggleborn, wouldn't it… but different, because your parents had gone there, and … well, everyone knew who you were…."

"Yeah… right… you can say it better than I could," he grinned uncomfortably.

"Harry, it's your interview!" she exclaimed, almost laughing, and then she looked over her shoulder hastily in case she had been too loud. "Go on, then. Talk about Hogwarts, what was it like, being there for the first time and all that?"

"Well… I mean it was…new…and…scary. It was a bit scary, I suppose…." He trailed off, looking pained and Ginny hesitated, unsure if she should press him for more. Hogwarts was a huge part of Harry and if he didn't want to talk about it, her interview would be missing one of the most important aspects of him.

After a moment, Ginny realized that she was staring at Harry, who was practically squirming under her close stare. Offering him a smile, she broke her gaze and shuffled some parchment.

She didn't want to offend him… he had offered to help her out, and if she couldn't focus on the more personal aspects of his character, like growing up at Hogwarts, in her essay, then she would just have to make do with what he did want talk about.

Heaving, a dramatic sigh, she said, "Fine, you don't have to talk about Hogwarts. Really, what am I going to do with you, Harry?"

He grinned, seemingly relieved.

"Right," she said, studying the lists and resolving herself to look for personal questions before asking him from now on. The problem was that she was so limited already. Luckily, the very next one on the list not only fit Harry, but it left plenty of room for him to expand.

"Did you have any great role models as a child?" She knew it was a _bit_ personal, but she didn't think he would mind talking about it – it would almost be like reminiscing, right?

Wrong.

He shifted in his chair. "Er… yeah, I suppose."

Ginny paused. "Can - can you name them?"

"Well… Albus Dumbledore."

"Of course," she said, catching his eye and smiling.

His mouth turned up.

"Is that all then?"

"Er…Arthur Weasley?"

"Dad?" she laughed. "You say that with full confidence?"

At this, Harry's shoulders jerked and he gave a helpless smile. "Yeah, you know… he was the first real… _normal_ adult wizard that I ever met…."

"Normal? Are you mad?" she grinned, missing her dad insanely. "He had a _plug_ collection, Harry, do you remember this at all?"

Harry was grinning. "Yeah, but… that's what made him so cool."

"Right," she rolled her eyes. She was about to ask him to expand on his other role model, but the question froze on her tongue. _Much_ too personal, she decided, and looked down again.

"Does your position as auror hold demanding hours?" she asked, finding a question at last. She hated having to skip around like this, but there was nothing for it… the questions had all led into one another when they had been for Madame Hag.

"Mm-hmm," Harry said, nodding. Then, "it does."

Ginny bit her lip. "What, erm, type of hours do you keep, then?"

"Well… I mean, it depends on what I'm working on," he said, looking uncomfortable. "Do you need to know exact or…?"

"No, that's … fine." Then she allowed herself a bit of a grin at the next query. "How do your _friends_ handle the time obligations that your position requires?" she asked, eliminating the word "family" from the original question. Perhaps this would cue him to talk about Ron and Hermione a bit. But—

"They understand it's necessary."

Her eyes stilled on the parchment. The stiffness in his tone seemed to settle around them and when she looked up, Harry's eyes were completely blank as he studied the surface of the table.

She chewed on her lip, and forced her eyes to move away from him. "Right… erm…the next query is: with whom did you study or prepare for your position as Auror?"

"Alastor Moody."

Ginny couldn't help smiling, thinking about Mad-Eye. "You apprenticed with him, right? For how long?"

"About three years."

"And in that time you learned…?"

"Defense spells."

Ginny stared. "Um… can you be a bit more specific… like, what sorts?"

"Er…Protection Enchantments… Concealment Charms… that sort of thing."

"Anything else?"

Harry lifted a brow. "You want me to list everything?"

"No, it's not that… can you… " She blew out a frustrated breath. This wasn't personal. It was supposed to be the meat and potatoes of her interview, his training, his work and if he wasn't comfortable going into detail about _that_, then she was in trouble. "Actually, can you talk about some of the things that he did teach you?" she asked tentatively. "It's only because this interview is really supposed to focus on your training and your work leading up to the Troll stuff …d'you mind?"

He took a breath and thought… and thought. "Well... some of it is not supposed to be… revealed and all that, so…."

"Oh. Well… is there anything at all that you _would_ be able to talk about?" she asked, hating herself for pressing him. But she had to have _something_.

Harry blew out a long breath and after a moment, he muttered about some museum that Mad-Eye had been hired to provide security for with which Harry had helped. Ginny practically devoured the information, jotting down notes on the side of her parchment as her recording quill wrote everything Harry was saying.

The interview progressed in quite the same manner. It was apparent that Harry wasn't really comfortable giving Ginny more than yes or no answers to any of her questions and when she did ask him to expand, he looked as though he was suddenly sitting on a bunch of grindylows: squirming in his chair, furrowing his brow and looking as though even thinking about answering was causing him pain. He was uncomfortable with questions that might force him to talk about anything meaningful to him, and then he was quiet and almost defensive when asked to talk about his training or work. They were both clearly becoming frustrated by the evening—Ginny from Harry's lack of compliance, and Harry…well, from having to actually participate in the interview that he had _offered_ to do.

Why, why, _why_ was he acting like this?

"How many years have you officially been practicing as an auror?" she asked him. "Not including your apprenticeship and training."

"Three years."

"When did you receive acceptance into the Dark Force Defense League?"

Pause. "In my last months of training."

Ginny nodded. "And how long does it normally take an auror to receive the title?" she asked, knowing that it was impossible to get accepted before practicing at least one year as an auror.

Harry looked at her blankly, about to provide her with another obstacle. As if she needed any more. "What does that matter?"

She stifled a sigh. "Because … well, wasn't it a great honor for you to receive it so soon after training?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't deserve it when they gave it to me, so not really." He looked and sounded annoyed.

Part of her recoiled at hearing him put himself down but a bigger part of her wanted to take her ink bottle and throw it at his head. It was bad enough that he was being so bloody uncooperative, but now he was perfectly willing to be _rude_?

"Right, perhaps we can call it a night, then."

As though she had indeed chucked the bottle of ink at his head, Harry looked at her with a startled expression on his face. "You … do you have everything that you need?"

"No," she snorted, knowing that things would probably blow up from here. That's what usually happened when her temper caused her chest to burn the way it was doing right now. "Not even close. But it's not working."

Harry's look of surprise fueled her fire even more and now there was no helping it. She was bloody _annoyed_. She knew she was unprepared. She knew that Harry hated interviews and that it was up to her to make this as painless as possible. But what she _didn't_ know was the reason she had to try her hardest to accommodate _Harry_ only to receive absolutely no effort at all from him.

Suddenly, staying Paris next term didn't seem quite so detrimental to her life as it had before.

So Ginny lifted a brow and gathered her papers. "Obviously, I should have prepared better for this. But…" A million different retorts formed in her head. _You could be a hell of a lot more helpful_, was one. _You're acting like a stupid prat for some reason and it's starting to really get on my nerves_, was another. But then she looked at him.

His brow was drawn as he watched her struggle and his eyes… well, behind the confusion… were guilty. Of course. Here he was, guilty Harry.

And here she was, sympathetic Ginny. It was like clockwork.

They looked at each other for a moment. "Sorry," he said, looking more uncomfortable than she'd seen him all night—and that was quite an accomplishment. "I'm not a very good person to interview, I probably shouldn't have offered."

His tone of voice had Ginny's eyes shifting to his. Guilt wasn't the only emotion present there… there was disappointment, as well. Suddenly, Ginny felt a bit of her own guilt. She didn't want him to be disappointed in himself because of her.

She made a noise in the back of her throat, somewhere between laughter and fatigue. "No… you're not a good person to interview. But I'm a horrible journalist." She heaved a sigh. "I should have prepared better for this, Harry, really. If I had, I could have researched your work and had specific things to ask you and—"

"No, Ginny, why should you have to research _my_ work when I could just tell you about it?" he asked in frustration.

"Yeah, but—"

"No buts," he said, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "I just… look, can we start over?"

Her eyes nearly fell out of her head. Start over? They had already been there for almost two hours. "I… I don't think we need to start over," she said finally, looking back at her notes. "Let's just continue, then. Can you talk about your troll work, that's really what this is supposed to be about and I can just… fill in the blanks with what we already have."

Harry raised his hand in a defeated gesture. "Only if you're sure that's fine… here, why don't we go back and I can expand a bit on some of the other questions? Just for a little while?"

She hesitated. "It's going to take longer if we do that and I don't want to keep you here all night, Harry—"

"So?" Then, with an apologetic grin, "I've nothing better to do anyway."

She blew out a breath, not feeling quite so good about getting her way. He hated talking about himself, which was probably the entire problem… and now, because he had offered to help her out in the first place, he was stuck.

However, as they began going back to the other questions, Harry didn't act as though it was a chore. He took it upon himself to look at her list of questions and expanded on the subject matter, even going so far as to suggest other topics that might be useful. And because all Ginny wanted was a good interview, she found it easy to switch into journalist mode, not holding back on asking him whatever came to mind and just letting him deal with answering.

"You trained Mountain Trolls for security positions?" she asked incredulously after a while, absently chewing on the end of her quill and stopping abruptly when a little feather stuck to her tongue. It didn't even seem like an interview anymore. They were old friends, conversing back and forth about Harry's work—how she had originally thought the interview would go in the first place. "I thought Mountain Trolls were on the Ministry's list of Untrainables," she said, daintily picking the piece of feather off her tongue.

"They are—er, they _were_. We… figured out a way to train them."

Her mouth dropped. "Really? How?"

"Well, it's sort of complicated… the thing about Mountain Trolls is their brain—it's sort of a… a selfish brain, it won't accept any knowledge that it's _taught_, it only learns from it's own experiences."

Ginny knew most of this from a beginners course she'd taken second term at l'Academie and she also knew that the Mountain Troll was a very sought after species for use on Security matters. But they were just so vicious, that it was virtually impossible for the Ministry to use them. Obviously, history had changed.

Harry continued, "The team I was studying with figured out that it wasn't the Mountain Troll's entire brain that was the problem… it was a certain part of it—" He gestured with his hands, holding his left one in a fist and placing his flattened right hand over it. "There's a shield on the brain like this, which blocks certain knowledge from coming in. The team figured out a way to transfigure the shield."

She looked at him, baffled. "What sort of transfiguration spell does that?"

Harry's lips quirked. "The one they made up."

Ginny sighed and sat back in her chair, feeling suddenly quite relieved at how well this was going. "Well. You've certainly been busy," she said, her voice tinged with laughter. "Creating Transfiguration spells…"

"I didn't really have anything to do with that—I was involved in keeping the Trolls, er, calm while they transfigured their brains."

She gaped at him. "Calm?"

He shrugged. "Calmer."

She slapped a hand over her mouth. "Good lord, Harry…"

Much later, Ginny reached the end of her list. "That appears to be all I need."

Harry lifted a brow. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I think I have enough. It's really mostly about the Troll stuff and you gave me lots of information about all of that, so…" She allowed herself a sigh. "I can't wait to write it out and turn it in and be _done_ with it—_ugh_." For she had glanced down to find that the quill, which had been recording their conversation all evening, had just scrawled _I can't wait to write it all out and hand it in and be done with it – ugh_.

"_Finite_," she commanded and the quill spun once before flopping to the table with a tired whistle. She looked at him with a tired grin. "I can't thank you enough, Harry."

He waved his hand. "It was no problem." He didn't quite meet her eyes. "If you need anything else, just owl me at the Ministry… or … make it up," he shrugged.

Ginny shook her head on a laugh. "It wasn't nothing, I'm sure you had to take time out your busy schedule to do this," she said, gathering her notes and pushing them into her bag. "So, thanks again."

Harry leaned back in his chair, stretching a little. "My schedule isn't as busy as you think. I actually have a lot of free time here, so it was good to get out for a bit and have normal company." He sent her a sideways smile as they stood and walked out. "All of my co-workers are so bloody old."

Ginny laughed but suddenly, the mystery of why he'd offered to help her became quite clear. He was bored. A vision of him at the Auror's Convention rose in her mind, standing there and staring around and around that blasted room as though trying to make it interesting.

The beginnings of guilt crept up on her. She knew she shouldn't feel badly since she _had _extended him an invitation to her café and it wasn't exactly as though she and Harry were good friends anymore. But as she pictured him with nobody for company besides those ancient people at the Convention, she couldn't help but feel guilty that the only reason she'd gotten together with him at all was for her own purposes.

They stepped out into the night, which was still warm and walked down the large steps to the pathway. Once they reached the walk, Ginny tied her sweater around her waist and turned to him, an idea forming.

"Do you have to get back any time soon?"

His brow went up. "Er… no, why?"

"There's an ice cream seller a short way down. Would you like to walk for a bit? We haven't really gotten the chance to catch up since you've been here."

"Er… are you sure you don't have anything else to do?" he asked doubtfully. "It sounds as though you have quite a workload."

She did, of course. There were three essays due in two weeks, which she hadn't even started. But she waved that aside. "Look, we've been cooped up in a library for three hours, I'm not doing anything else tonight. I finally have the blasted interview finished," she said dramatically, throwing her arms out and he grinned.

"If you say so. Where is it then?"

"This way." They turned down the pathway and walked against the wind; Ginny reached up and twisted her blowing hair into a haphazard knot at the back of her neck.

"So, I've been meaning to ask you something," she said as they walked down the lantern lit street. "Why didn't I recognize anyone else the other night? I mean surely you're not the only Auror from England's Ministry here?"

"Not everyone has to attend these things, most are too busy with their assignments and research," Harry explained. "These annual conventions aren't very… er, necessary. Normally the only Auror's who aren't on assignment are the ones who aren't really… assigned much work."

At once she understood. "Ahhh… in other words, Auror's who are too old to handle the complicated jobs, then?" she asked with a smirk.

"I never said that," Harry said mildly.

Ginny laughed. "If that's the case, why are _you_ stuck here and not on some dodgy mission? In between assignments? Or did you just want the excuse to visit Paris?"

"Eh," Harry shrugged and dug his hands into his pockets. "Something like that." There was a short silence, then, "So, how does it feel to be going home soon?"

Ginny sighed. "Oh, well, I'm really happy about it. But I'm also terribly sad. Paris has become home to me."

"You must miss everyone, though?"

"Like mad. Although I won't be saying that when I get back, that's for sure. All Mum needs to do is wake me up one time like she used to." Ginny did a very high, very good impression of her mother calling her name in the morning. "And I'll be running for the hills."

Harry turned to her, looking amazed. "Bloody hell. That brings me back. I remember hearing her call your name about ten times before you actually woke up. Bit annoying."

"Tell me about it."

But he smiled knowingly. "You'll probably be so happy to finally see her, you'll want to wake up early just to have breakfast with her."

She was about to reply with a joke, but the thought made her smile. "Probably."

"Are you going to live at the Burrow?"

"Yes. Until I find a job and can _afford _to live on my own."

"What sort of jobs will you apply for? The Ministry?"

At this Ginny made a face. "It's what everyone expects—and there are tons of jobs within the Ministry for linguists, most of my friends already have positions lined up. I just… I dunno what I want to do yet. Oh, here we are."

They turned the corner and a bright red cart came into view. There was a short queue of people standing in front of the seller who was spooning out large scoops of various flavors onto cones. Ginny's mouth began to water – she hadn't stopped to eat all day.

"So have you seen all the sights of Lacasse, yet?" she asked him as they stood at the end of the queue.

"What sights?" he asked curiously and Ginny looked surprised.

"What do you mean, what sights? The city is full of them."

"What sorts of things?" he asked her. "Besides the Eiffel Tower?"

"Well, that's Muggle Paris, but there are some fantastic things to do here, too."

They were suddenly next to order, so they told the seller what they wanted. Just when Ginny had reached inside her pocket for some coins, she sighed when Harry reached his arm across her and paid for both.

"I see you haven't changed," she remarked dryly as they stepped away, carrying cones piled high with chocolate and hazelnut ice cream.

"Hmm?" he asked, as if nothing had happened, licking the side of his scoop.

"That's okay, I won't protest now – I'll just pay next time."

From the corner of her eye, she saw his eyes dart towards her.

"I mean to say, obviously you need a tour guide or something, Harry, because you can't leave Lacasse without seeing at least some of the tourist spots. How long will you be here?"

"Er… another week or two, I think. But, you're really busy, Ginny, I don't—"

"Yes, and that's why I'll take a much needed _break_ from all my work and show you around the city."

He sent her a sideways look. "I'm sure you have other things to do with your free time."

"Will you stop?" she scolded. "If I didn't want to I wouldn't." Then she had a thought while she ran her tongue along the side of her ice cream. "I mean, unless … you won't be able to get away."

"No, it's not that," he was quick to assure. "I suppose if you are insisting." He gave her a sideways smile.

Ginny smiled back. "I am."

"All right then. When is it good for you because my evening schedule is completely open."

She looked at him curiously. It was the second time he'd said that, but it was now occurring to Ginny that she'd certainly heard him talk before this about how busy he was here – and then she remembered. It was when she'd invited him to her café at the Ministry. Smiling to herself, Ginny chose not to voice this and pretended to think over her schedule. "Well, I'm working all weekend—except for Sunday. Sunday night?"

"That's fine. What'll we see? The Eiffel Tower?"

Ginny found herself smiling. "We can go into Muggle Paris if you like."

"What sort of things are there to see here?"

"Hmmm, let's see… there's merpeople rock – that's always fun at night. It's a huge rock—more like an island–in the middle of the lake where the merpeople always lounge around—mostly at night. You can rent these charmed glasses that allow you to see it, since it's really far away, and you get to watch them having parties and playing games."

"I hate merpeople."

Ginny heaved a sigh. "Well, _these_ merpeople are really beautiful—they have green hair."

"Beautiful," he echoed.

"You'll see," she said firmly. "There's also Jaques the Jaunty's tomb—it's on this huge hill surrounded by a really pretty trellis."

"Wasn't there a tapestry of him at Hogwarts? The poltergeist who's trapped inside his own tomb?"

"That's right, Transfiguration corridor. And he is trapped, you can hear him laughing in there if you listen at the right angle."

"Really?" Harry seemed much more impressed by Jaques the Jaunty's tomb than merpeople's rock, so Ginny told him they would go there. They walked for a few more minutes, talking about the other sights in Lacasse and it wasn't until Ginny found herself yawning widely that she decided to call it a night.

They'd walked so far that it was legal Apparition to the flat and once she and Harry agreed on a place to meet Sunday night, Ginny raised her wand and next second, her bedroom was materializing around her.

She'd Apparated right in front of her wall mirror and the first thing she saw was herself. With a weary sigh she walked forward to get a better look, although she wished she hadn't. Her hair was a mess from the wind, her eyes looked very worn and – something she didn't understand at first—her cheeks were bright red. It took her running a finger along the skin between her nose and cheek and feeling a burning sensation to realize that she had sunburn. She stood, confused, staring into the mirror and trying to figure out if it had been that sunny walking from place to place today, when there was a swift knock on her bedroom door.

"Eh? I mean, come in."

The door creaked open by itself and Ginny turned to see Brian leaning against the frame, regarding her with a raised brow.

"Well."

She turned away from the mirror at last and tossed her bag onto her desk chair, flopped onto her bed and flipped off her sandals. "Well, what?"

He heaved a long, slow sigh and took his time answering. "Oh… _I _dunno…. I haven't seen you in nearly five days and here you are, coming in at one in the morning. I think we're growing apart, Gin."

"One in the morning?" she exclaimed, staring at him before looking at her watch. It read 12:57 am. She groaned. "I can't believe I lost track of time. This is terrible. I have to be at l'Acadamiè tomorrow at seven." She pouted. "Will I ever get my ten hours of sleep?"

At this Brian rolled his eyes. "Nobody gets ten hours of sleep, love, there's a bit of real life for you. Anyway, where were you?"

"I was getting my interview," she said absently, pushing past him and walking into the living room to see if she'd had any post.

"Interview?" he asked in surprise. Ginny froze in the motion of flipping through the two letters that she'd found on the sideboard. "_Millicent_? At one in the morning?"

"No," she said carefully, pretending to study an envelope and thinking very fast. She hadn't told Brian about Harry—at all. The truth was that Harry had most definitely been a sore subject back when Ginny and Brian had become friends—a subject that she had deliberately chosen not to talk about at all, with anyone and before long, the fact that Ginny knew Harry had turned into a sort of secret that she'd had to keep up every time Brian mentioned reading something about him.

Ginny answered Brian casually. "Actually, I found someone else to interview."

"Really? Who?"

She bit her lip. "Harry Potter."

Brian snorted. "Yeah, right. Who is it then?"

"I'm serious. I ran into him at that Auror's thing and we got to talking and he offered to let me interview him." Ginny worked hard to keep her voice neutral, but she refused to meet Brian's eyes.

"Harry Potter doesn't give interviews, love," he said matter-of-factly, his dimples appearing in his cheeks. He thought she was joking. "It's a lovely wish, though."

"It's not exactly a formal interview, Bri—it's really pretty basic without all the Troll stuff. And he's had experience with Trolls so it really worked out well—"

"Hang on," Brian interrupted and now he was looking at her very carefully. "Are you trying to tell me that you're serious?"

"Yes," she said patiently. "I'm very serious."

"You were … just now… interviewing Harry Potter?"

"Yeah," she hopped up onto the window ledge and opened a letter from Sarah, trying desperately not to look at him. "Look, I used to know Harry—I went to Hogwarts with him. He was a friend of my brother's—what?"

For Brian's face suddenly gaped at her. "A friend of your brother's? You never told me that."

"So? It never came up."

"I've mentioned Harry Potter to you—last summer, I was saying how he was involved in that Ministry bust—the one where they caught almost fifteen Ministry members in the act of—"

"Look, Bri, Harry isn't someone famous to me," Ginny said, hopping off the window and walking behind the low wall into the kitchen. "He's just… another friend of my brother's, someone I went to school with. So when someone mentions him to me, I suppose I don't advertise that I know him or anything because it's really no big deal."

"Ginny," Brian said, looking at her as if she were mad. "He's like… the next best thing to a bloody _god_—"

"Oh, please, you sound like a teenage girl."

"He saved the bloody wizarding world, I have a lot of respect for him, as do many people."

Ginny uncapped a bottle of juice and took a swig. "He's really a normal bloke." She almost smiled as she said that.

"Bugger."

She rolled her eyes. "Real eloquent." Finding that she couldn't concentrate on anything as her eyelids were drooping, Ginny tossed Sarah's letter aside and slid off the ledge. "I'm going to bed. Good night."

Brian didn't answer and when Ginny finally looked at him, she saw that he was watching her closely. "What?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

He shook his head after a moment. "Nothing. I'm just… I can't believe you never mentioned it before, that's all."

Ginny bit her lip. "I'm sorry, I… it wasn't as if I was keeping a secret or something, it just honestly isn't a very big deal."

She hated lying to him. But what else could she say?

Hogwarts, Third Year 

The sunlight poured through the high castle windows, spraying bright pools across the dark corridors of Hogwarts. It was June now and as Ginny walked down a particularly long corridor, the weight of the events from the previous night slowed her steps considerably.

Her slow journey came to a halt at the entrance to the hospital wing. She'd known that she would come across it; she'd taken the long route back to Gryffindor Tower for a reason and this was it. For a few long minutes she stood in front of the closed wooden doors, wishing that she could see through them… or make herself invisible and go inside. She took a deep breath and the air was so shaky in her lungs, it made her shiver. There was no way she would ever go inside. It was not her place and besides… nothing she had to say would be of any comfort.

_That's not true_, snapped an angry part of her heart. She had plenty to say, plenty to offer. She'd been through something terrible. She'd met Voldemort, too, hadn't she?

Heaving a sigh and looking up at the tall doors, Ginny shook her head wearily. Her lack of self-confidence made her furious at times, but it didn't stop the fact that her hope was starting to fade. She couldn't defend her feelings anymore. It was a losing battle and the more she fought it, the more she lost.

The horror from last night came back to her in a flash and she closed her eyes, having to remind herself that it wasn't still happening… that Harry was safe.

_But Cedric Diggory isn't_.

Ginny squeezed her eyes closed. She would not feel guilty for being happy that Harry was alive. It was positively crushing that a student had… had died, but…

Ginny opened her eyes sharply as the memory of a deadly diary appeared in her mind. She'd spent a good part of her first year at Hogwarts thinking that Tom Riddle would eventually kill her. He'd made sure, towards the end, that she knew who was in power and it was terrifying, preparing to die… thinking there was no way out… no one to save her. It still scared her.

The doors came into focus again. They were solid barriers meant for the sole purpose of holding her back. If they weren't there, it would be so much easier to go in. But she couldn't do it—she couldn't reach out her hand and open the door herself. It was… too big a task. It took too much effort.

She stood in front of them, her eyes roaming over the dark wooden panels waiting for something… anything that might be a sign telling her it was okay to go inside… that he might actually appreciate what she had to say. She tried to imagine what she _would_ say— what she would _like _to say, rather—and there were no words that came into her mind. It was always just a… _feeling_ she wanted to pass from herself to him. Comfort? No. It wasn't her place to comfort him. There were people he already trusted for that. Ironically, it was her own brother, her own parents, and that alone gave her reason enough to walk through those doors and inquire how he was feeling. Or offer him some support… or even something more simple like… some sweets… or a funny story … anything.

But Ginny didn't want to be polite anymore… she wanted to reach him. She wanted to offer him something that nobody else could, and tell him that she knew what it was like to be trapped and alone and scared. She was willing to do it, to open up her own wounds if it would comfort him.

But it wouldn't. If she knew anything in the world about Harry, she knew that to him, she was nothing more than an acquaintance… someone who used to embarrass him and someone he wasn't fully comfortable around. He'd saved her life, sure, but … that wasn't enough for him to want her around… to allow her in….

"Ginny?"

She jumped.

"Oh… hello, Michael." She knew she oughtn't, but the smile just happened. "All right?"

"Yeah," he said, peering at her closely. "How are you?"

"Oh…" Ginny trailed off and automatically looked at the doors. The little happiness she'd felt at seeing Michael, who had been a lovely friend all year, faded. "I'm …okay," she said, knowing it sounded untrue.

Michael nodded, looking concerned. "You've… probably a lot to be going on with right now. Have you just come back from seeing Harry?"

"Hmm? Oh, no… I was… just on my way back to Gryffindor Tower. You?"

He shrugged. "To be honest, I… well, I was looking for you." He said the last part with a bit more confidence and Ginny almost thought he looked taller somehow. Her heart skipped a beat.

"You … were?"

Michael nodded. "Mm-hmm. I wanted to ask you, well… would you mind if … I, er, wrote to you this summer?"

Her eyes flew to his. They were brown, just like hers, only darker… they looked almost black… like his hair. His hair was short, though and not in the least bit messy.

But it was still black.

Appalled, Ginny snapped herself out of her thoughts. "Oh," she said a bit stupidly. She knew there was more behind his question. She'd caught him staring at her a few times during the year and the way he was looking at her now with those dark eyes seemed to want to make her read his thoughts… that his offer to write to her meant much more. Her heart in her throat, she felt an automatic pull to look back at the doors of the hospital wing.

But she refused to look back. "Of course you can write to me. I'd love it."

His face broke out into a grin. It made him suddenly look very… handsome. Her heart skipped again.

"Cool," said Michael.

"Cool," she returned, smiling a bit.

They stood there looking awkwardly at each other.

"Well, I've got to be at lunch," Michael said after a minute. "I'm meeting some friends. I'll see you?"

Ginny nodded and watched him walk off, a lump forming in her throat. It was then that she turned back to the doors. They were still closed. She furrowed her brow. How was it that a pair of closed doors could make her feel so… guilty?

It was as though she'd just betrayed him somehow.

She liked Michael Corner just fine and felt a little thrill when she thought about what had just happened. She was moving on. She had to start somewhere and she liked Michael and he obviously liked her and…it was fine. Fine.

There had been no betrayal here.

Continue to Chapter Five

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	6. Chapter Five

Title: "Seeking Ginny" Author: Casca 

**Rating**: PG

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G

**Summary**: Ginny Weasley has tried for years to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N**: This chapter has been in-progress for two months. It would have been up two weeks ago, but every night for the past two weeks of my life consisted of watching the Chicago Cubs race to the World Series and having near heart failures game after game. In the end, they didn't make it as many of you know. But they put up a damn good fight. So, here's to next year for our Cubbies and here's to getting chapter six out in a timelier manner.

**A/N: This chapter has been revised as of November 2005**

**Chapter Five**

It was a difficult task just to walk in the crowded café on Sunday afternoon, much less work, but somehow Ginny was managing to do it. She wound her way through the hordes of people waiting to be seated at the entrance, sure that she would step on a foot or smash into a body, and wondering whether or not she would actually have the energy to apologize.

It was hot. Aurelie's blonde hair was sticking to her cheeks and Christian, with a very flushed face, looked as though someone had cast a Speeding Charm on him as he ladeled drinks into glasses, stirred bubbly cauldrons and shot goblets across the bar, all with several well-timed charms. The unbearably hot weather was causing the residents of magical Paris to either close themselves up in their houses with double-energized indoor climate charms or, it seemed ironically, come to Le Papillon where the temperature was a touch cooler than that of the wood burning oven inside the kitchen.

Le Papillon's stucture was old, built in the late 12th century, and did not handle indoor-climate charms very well… especially when its walls were vibrating from the amount of people it currently held, which was why Ginny couldn't understand their motives. She could only _wish_ to be locked up in her flat with magical climate instead of squashed against dozens of people in this boiling curse of a place. Still the customers piled in, rushing first to the bar to order one of Christian's frosty drinks, then waiting to be seated where they would dawdle at their tables for hours and order refill after refill. It was enough to drive anyone mad and Ginny had dealt with the same thing the previous night, which had caused her to stay late, which had prevented her from finishing her heaps and heaps of homework, all due tomorrow. Today was the day that she'd made plans to show Harry around magical Paris and there really was no way that she could do that unless they were to spend the evening doing the rest of her homework, Ginny was now plagued with guilt about canceling on him.

She could only imagine how extremely appalled her mother would be if she knew what little effort she'd made in spending time with Harry while he was here. It was a small comfort that these circumstances were out of her control, but Ginny was sure that her mother wouldn't see things her way.

During her shift, Ginny was able to take a short break and rush over to the post office, which was just across the street from the café. She sent an apology to Harry for having to cancel their arrangement and inquired if they could reschedule at all, then grabbed a local owl and sent Brian a quick message to let him know that she would be home to study with him tonight.

After seriously considering stopping in the Quidditch shop and buying a broom so she didn't have to walk, Ginny arrived home later on that night. Brian was indeed home, but instead of sitting at the table doing homework, he stood in front of the fireplace looking wild-eyed.

"Third bloody letter this week!" he bellowed, turning to Ginny and holding up the crumpled piece of parchment. "Can't the bloody witch take a BLOODY HINT!"

Ginny dropped her handbag on a chair and let the wonderfully cold air of the living room wash over her.

"What?"

Brian held up the crumpled piece of parchment and looked at her with wide eyes, "I have a bloody stalker."

Ginny blinked the sweat from her eyes and tried to think of a response, "Well, it was bound to happen eventually, the way you carry on."

"I've never even been OUT WITH THIS WITCH!"

Ginny winced as he shouted, wondering how she'd managed to find herself a flat mate who was a combination of all her brothers put together. It was like living with Bill and his witches, Ron and his Godforsaken loudness, Fred and George and their jokes… all rolled into one person. Only Charlie's persona seemed absent from Brian's character, but that was probably because Charlie had shocked everyone with his normalcy in recent years by getting married and having a family.

After reveling in the cool living room a few moments more, Ginny went off to shower, leaving Brian in front of the fireplace, mouthing soundlessly at the letter.

It was after her wonderfully refreshing shower, she'd finally curled up in her armchair with a Gobbledygook novel, when there was a sudden _whoosh_ at the window meaning post. Ginny was in the middle of trying to translate a very difficult paragraph in her head, so she didn't look up until she felt a flutter on her cheek and saw a flash of pure white from the corner of her eye. She lowered the book at once.

"Hello," she said softly, then smiled as the snowy owl landed gently on her shoulder and ducked her head to peck at Ginny's ear. "You remember me, do you? Well, you're just as lovely as I remember you… yes, you certainly are."

She took a few seconds to stroke Hedwig's soft feathers before taking the piece of parchment from her. Harry had written in response to Ginny's letter that afternoon, telling her that he would be free on Tuesday morning as she had inquired. Ginny took a bit of parchment and scrawled a time and place where they could meet. She'd just watched Hedwig sail out the window with her response when the bathroom door opened and Brian came out.

"Who were you talking to?" he asked her as he took his seat on the sofa.

"I had a letter."

"You often speak to your post?" he asked mildly, picking up his book.

Ginny grinned and returned to her book.

The horrible temperatures continued into Monday and any hopes that it would change by the next day were quickly squashed when Ginny woke up on Tuesday and went over to the window. She poked her head out and gazed down, feeling a rush of hot air assault her. The congested streets looked slower—people seemed to travel at a stroll instead of the brusque walk most took to work and many more were on brooms.

It was very lucky that she'd agreed to meet Harry near the ice cream seller from the other night because it was legal Apparition from her flat and the minute Ginny materialized there, she was so taken aback that she had to pause for a second. It was like being inside a boiler and it was only nine am. The temperatures were bound to increase even more as the day progressed.

To her surprise, Harry was already waiting for her, sitting on a bench and looking so typically Harry as he checked his watch and looked around.

It had been so long since she'd had the chance to look at Harry… really look, without him knowing. It was weak of her, she knew, but something forced her to stand quite still and she chewed on her lip as she studied the boy she used to know so well.

He was so very much the same. He could still sit on a bench, with people all around and encompass that same Harry-isolation that could occur when he was anywhere… like a busy corner in Paris with people walking along, zooming past on broomsticks, even stopping to cast a look over their shoulders to see if their eyes were playing tricks or if it really _was _Harry Potter sitting on a bench in Lacasse, Paris.

But there was something different. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps she was just not used to seeing this older version of Harry.

Harry chose that moment to look up and his eyes fell directly on Ginny. Her cheeks grew warm and she felt that familiar, naughty, embarrassed, _damn, he caught me _feeling and found herself grinning at it almost fondly. Shaking her head at herself, she gave him a small wave and went over.

"Something funny?" Harry asked looking amused as she approached with a smile playing on her lips.

Ginny shook her head, letting out a much-needed laugh. "I think I'm just delirious from this heat," she said, throwing back her head and pretending to sob. "Harry, it's so hot!"

"It is, isn't it?" Harry said, squinting in the strong sunlight.

"Yes… it is," she said, "and I have lovely work to look forward to this afternoon where climate charms won't work."

Harry looked surprised, "They won't?"

She shook her head. "Place is too … _bloody_ old There's too much magic going on in the tiny little kitchen. There's too many _people_ packed into the place. It's like… a nightmare. Honestly. You should be thankful the Ministry is well-charmed. Tell me, are they looking for any waitressing help?"

Harry grinned and was about to answer when a group of young witches zoomed by on brooms all of which had paper fans attached to the handles. He and Ginny looked after them for a moment before turning back to each other and sharing a grin.

"I'm not certain about this Ministry," Harry said, answering her question. "But at home, we'd love to have you—there's never time to go out for lunch."

"Oooh, that's a great idea," she said. "It can be my backup plan if I don't find a job! I'm not the best waitress in the world, but don't worry, I won't embarrass you in front of your co-workers."

"It's a deal, then. Is it usually this warm in the summer?" Harry asked, wiping his brow.

Ginny sighed, peeling her long hair from the back of her neck. "I've never actually _experienced_ temperatures this high before, but I don't think it's extremely rare. Happens once in a while, just like everywhere." She paused and looked around for a bit. "I suppose we shouldn't let it hinder us…?"

Still squinting, Harry gazed up and down the street, contemplating. "No. No, I suppose we shouldn't…" he trailed off, looking none too excited about sightseeing.

Ginny looked at Harry and noticed small circles under his eyes. He looked tired. "It's up to you, Harry," she said after a moment. "Jacques the Jaunty's tomb _is_ outside and we would have to walk there…"

Harry bit his lip and turned back to Ginny. "Is there anything we can do _in_doors?"

"Well… there's the Magical Creatures museum, they have skeletons of all these ancient beasts, but…hang on, I think they're closed for renovations."

"Anything in Muggle Paris?"

"Oh—how about the Louvre?"

Harry lifted a brow, brightened by this. "Can we Apparate?"

Ginny laughed. "Harry, are you mad? We've been trained to think Apparition is a very bad thing around here. No, once we're _in_ Muggle Paris, we can Apparate to wherever we need to go, but from _here_ we'd have to go to Lacasse's _entrance_ to Muggle Paris and—well, wait a second… I think that's even further than the tomb. Let's see, perhaps that's legal Apparition after all."

She pulled her wand, pointed it to ground where she was standing, and muttered the incantation that would give her the distance to any certain place from that point. Then she said, "Entrance to Muggle Paris." The distance in kilometers rose in blue smoke… the number was just beneath the legal limits.

"Sorry… we'll have to walk anyway," she said, looking at Harry sheepishly. "It really is up to you."

Harry blew out a breath and looked around again. He stopped his scan of the buildings suddenly and pointed over her shoulder. "What's that?"

Ginny twisted around to look. "That's a restaurant. I've never been there, I dunno if there's anything really interesting about it…"

"Well… do you think it might be cool inside?" he asked after a few seconds.

"I have no idea," she said on a laugh. "Do you want to … go in there for coffee or something?"

"That's… fine with me. I haven't had breakfast," he said, wiping the sweat from his brow and glancing at Ginny for the final decision.

"Breakfast it is. Come on."

They walked slowly down the row shops to the little café called Massa, and when they stepped inside, a wonderful rush of cold air assaulted them. Ginny and Harry exchanged looks of approval.

In terms of décor, Massa was the direct opposite of Ginny's café. It was very bright, with orange and golden tones in the walls and floor tiles, the windows were colorful glass blocks, the tables were small and square, their tops made of colorful pieces of glass under a smooth coating. It was adorable and cozy, but unlike Le Papillon, the place was gleaming and new … and lacking any sort of historic ambience at all. It was missing the very thing Ginny most loved about her café.

"This place is … different," Harry commented after the waitress had taken their breakfast order. "The café you work in, does it look like this?"

"No, not at all. The building is much older and it's not so… bright. It has a sort of…charm that I suppose is difficult to find in newer buildings like this." Then she grinned, "But it's not so cool on hot days, so who cares about charm?"

Harry smirked. "Has business been slow because of the heat?"

She shook her head. "We're busy as ever. It's because our bartender makes these really delicious cold drinks that are quite famous all across town. It's awful though. I can't wait for it to get back to normal."

At that moment, their waitress approached with their breakfast: a basket of bread, a dish each of butter and jam, chocolate spread, a glass container of pumpkin juice and coffee. As she placed each item on the table, Harry eyed the basket of bread with an ironic lift of his brow.

"Haven't the French ever heard of bacon?" he asked rather disdainfully after the waitress had left.

Ginny, who had been preoccupied when the trendy waitress had glanced at Harry almost three times in quick succession before dragging herself away, looked at Harry in confusion before breaking into an understanding grin. "Tired of bread are you?"

Harry nodded, evidently more interested in scowling at the food than the gaping waitress. "I'm beginning to miss your mum's breakfast."

"Oh, I _know. _Goodness, mum's breakfast… I haven't had it in… over a year now! Honestly, Harry, shame on you for bringing it up, you've only gone—what, a few weeks without it?"

He smirked and took a croissant.

"So, anyway, excluding the breakfast, do you like France at all?" Ginny asked him conversationally once she'd taken her own croissant. Then she pointed to the bread he was about to lift to his mouth. "Just close your eyes and pretend there's bacon in it."

Harry took a bite and shook his head while he chewed. "Not working."

She shrugged. "I tried. Anyway, Paris? What do you think so far?"

"It's all right, I suppose. I haven't seen much of it."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I _know_. I'm doing my best to amend that, but really, Mum will kill me if she finds out that I haven't given you a proper tour already."

"She'll never know," he said, waving his hand.

"Oh, you'll be surprised. So, anyway, Mum's breakfast. Last time I was home, I slept right through breakfast on all three mornings, including Christmas Day, and I didn't forgive myself for weeks after I got back here."

"You were home for Christmas?" Harry asked, looking surprised. "When?"

"Yeah." She pulled the coffee towards her and poured a cup. "I went home the Christmas before last."

Harry looked confused. "Did I… was I there…?"

Ginny took a sip. "You were on assignment somewhere, I think."

"That's right," he said at last. "Africa."

She smiled sympathetically. "Sounds very exotic, Harry, but… Christmas in the desert? That had to be … dreadful."

He shook his head. "Christmas in the rain forest. Nigeria."

"Do you often get sent away during holidays, then?"

He lifted a shoulder again. "It happens. Was that the only time you've visited home?"

"No… actually I've been back a few times. We just kept missing each other, I suppose. You were always on assignments, always away somewhere exotic and beautiful."

"Probably not exotic and beautiful," he added.

Ginny tsked. "Yeah, right. So where've you been? Tell me about the exotic places you've seen."

Harry made a face. "Er…I don't really get to see much when I'm on assignment, it's always just a lot of work."

Ginny waited for him to add something, but he didn't. "Oh," she said at last, trying not to be disappointed that he didn't seem eager to discuss his travels. She knew it was all probably top secret and everything, but that only sparked her interest further.

"Will you be happy to finally go home, then?" Harry asked after another sip of coffee. "Er—" he looked up at her, eyes narrowed. "Did I ask you that already?"

"Mmm… yes, actually, I think you asked me the other night after the interview."

"Right. Sorry."

She waved her hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm so used to people asking me that all the time, I've actually memorized the answer by now."

He lifted a brow. "Really?"

"Yes." She lifted her chin and recited, "I'm happy to be going back, but I'll be very sad when I have to say goodbye. It's become my home here."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, smiling and buttering his bread. "I think you did say something like that."

"Sometimes I change a word here and there."

A smile played on his lips as he sipped his coffee, looking like he was deciding whether or not to say what was on his mind. Then, as if he'd come to a decision, his face relaxed into an easy smile and placed his cup back down. "It's a bit like people wanting to know all about the exotic places I've seen."

She started to laugh. "Ugh…well, at least I was _polite_ and answered you _properly_," she retorted, tossing a piece of bread towards him.

He grinned. "So…magical Paris—it's really quite a big city, isn't it?"

"Lacasse is big," Ginny agreed, nodding. "Doesn't compare to the size of all the other arrondisments, though, but…."

Harry's brow furrowed as he poured another cup. "All the other… what?"

"Arrondisments," she said, pulling a off a piece of croissant. "They're like towns, or small cities. Paris is made up of twenty-one arrondisments, although if you said that to the average Muggle, they'll tell you you're mad and that there are only twenty of them. However, Lacasse is the twenty-first, only visible to the average witch or wizard," she added with a grin. "Anyway, I can't believe I'm giving you a lesson on magical towns when you've been all over the world."

"I've not been all over the world," he corrected. "Just… a few places."

"A few exotic places," she corrected.

Harry groaned. "They're not exotic when you're working."

"I know, I know." She took a sip of coffee, glad for the relaxed tone of this breakfast in comparision to the first half of the interview the other night.

"I would love to travel all the time," she said a few minutes later, after she and Harry continued to eat their breakfast in comfortable silence, "Even if it's for work."

"Even with a group of aurors all over the age of one hundred?"

She waved that matter aside. "I can make friends with anyone."

Harry nodded, looking quite amused all of a sudden.

"What? Why are you smiling?"

He cleared his throat, setting down his cup. "Just thinking how true that is—about you making friends with anyone." Ginny looked at him, confused for a second until he grinned at her. "Luna Lovegood."

Ginny suddenly became quite stern. "Don't get started on Luna, I'll have you know that her magazine sells almost two times the copies Witch Weekly does, according to the statistics in the Prophet. She has a huge following, the public finds her a riot."

"Alright, I was just kidding!" he exclaimed, looking put in his place like he and Ron always did when Ginny would yell at them for making fun of Luna. "I like Luna!"

"Have you seen her lately?" Ginny asked, interested to know how Luna was doing and when Harry shook his head, she continued, "We wrote to each other a few times while I was here, but it's been awhile." She sighed. There were so many people she hadn't kept in touch with over the years. "How is Neville?"

"He's about to become a healer."

"I _know_!" Ginny exclaimed. "I forgot who told me that. Have you seen him recently?"

"A while ago. So, what about you? Have you ever run into anyone here?"

"Just you," she chuckled. "I've had lots of visitors from the family, of course. Mum, Dad, Charlie and his family, Bill. I've begged Ron for years to come and he never did. The twins were always too busy, although I don't see how they couldn't just leave the shops to someone else while they took a holiday to see their little sister. And now it's too late, I'm coming home in a few months. Although Sarah is supposed to visit after term ends to travel round France."

"Sarah Murphy," Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Right, she was normal."

"_All _of my friends are normal." Then she thought of Brian and his stalker. "Well, most of them anyway. Besides, lets not judge each other because of our friends—you do call my brother your best."

Harry grinned and polished off his croissant.

They sat in the trendy little café for almost two hours after that and when Ginny looked at her watch, she was startled to see that her shift began in only twenty minutes. She couldn't believe she'd lost track of time, but it was nice, sitting with Harry and talking about old times. It made the people in those memories become familiar to her again, almost as though she was seeing them herself after all this time.

After Ginny bade Harry goodbye with the promise to owl shortly about sightseeing, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of accomplishment as she walked to work.

The café was still quite the madhouse, but not due to people seeking cool drinks from the heat. It seemed as though Lacasse was finally tired of the hot weather, and during the first hour of Ginny's shift, just as she was serving a tray of frosty drinks to a table outside, the sky opened up, sending rain pouring down in sheets. And one hour after _that_, as though by magic, the downpour slowed and cleared, leaving a picturesque sky and temperatures as fresh and cool as a typical summer night.

Ginny, Christian and Aurelie exchanged almost gleeful looks at this news.

"Perhaps people will want to spend the evening outside then," Aurelie said hopefully, and no sooner had the words left her mouth than a wave of customers rushed in, all looking as though they had been freed from some prison.

"We haven't left the house for three days because of the heat!" exclaimed a frantic looking woman in such rapid French that Ginny almost didn't catch what she was saying. "We'd like to sit at a table outside, please!"

"So would we!" chimed a different couple.

The two waitresses and the bartender exchanged another look, but this one had no signs of glee whatsoever.

However, as they worked through the afternoon and into early evening, things weren't as bad as they could have been. It was busy and it was hectic, but the work was so much easier now that it had cooled down. Most of the occupied tables were outside and it had turned into such a lovely evening that every time Ginny set foot on the cobblestone patio to handle another order, her mood brightened. The sunset was one of the most colorful ones she'd ever seen; the entire sky lit up with pinks and oranges and dark purples all swirling into each other like the surface of a potion brewing in a steaming cauldron.

The customers' high spirits rubbed off on the staff. Every time Ginny and Aurelie passed each other serving their tables, they laughed at some joke or whispered about a particular customer and Christian could be seen talking amiably with the customers at the bar.

A group of very good-looking wizards about Ginny's age sat at a table that was between the end of Ginny's station and the beginning of Aurelie's. Though normally, the two fought over which would be stuck serving that table, it was an entirely different matter this time around. Over the heavy chatter of dozens of diners, Ginny's brown eyes met Aurelie's hazel ones and the challenge was issued. Whoever made it there first would clearly win the opportunity to serve the eye-catching group.

"No Speeding Charms," Ginny warned Aurelie as the tall, blonde waitress banished a drink order to Christian with such speed that the piece of parchment slapped him in the face. When one of the men from the table in pursuit flashed a grin at Ginny, she rushed her tray to her other customers, blushing foolishly and almost spilling soup onto someone's lap.

But alas, it was Aurelie who made it first in the end and pouting, Ginny slumped onto a barstool inside.

"Wait… could it be… is everyone served?" Christian asked mildly as he sent a Guinness down the bar.

"Yeah, my table for ten is happily eating their bouillabaisse."

"Aurelie?"

Ginny sighed. "She's still… working."

A very high, feminine laugh issued from outside and Ginny grunted. "That's her. Working."

The bells chimed for the hundredth time, causing Ginny to draw in her breath and prepare for another group of ten—then she sighed in relief as she recognized the woman who entered.

"Ginev-_ra_?" sang a high, earsplitting voice. "Is that you over there?"

"Yes, it's me, how are you Genevieve?" Ginny called out as the brightly dressed regular descended on the bar, glittering shawl flowing behind her.

"I have photographs from my granddaughter's honeymoon in Greece! Aurelie told me to bring them in—where is that girl?"

"She's outside. Is your granddaughter back already?"

"Of course she is! It's been two weeks."

"Ugh, time has been _flying _lately."

"That is has, Ginevra," she said, peering at Ginny through her rhinestone-rimmed glasses that magnified her heavily lashed-eyes. "You have a minute to look, then? Greece is magnificent."

"In a moment Genevieve, just let me seat these customers." For another couple had just walked in.

"Okay, you go on, then. Aure-_lie_! Come here and look at these photographs!"

Ginny lead the couple outside, passing Aurelie who was carrying her table's order. Ginny grinned at her. "Genevieve's waiting."

"I heard," she grumbled.

"She's coming Genevieve!" Ginny called back. Then to Aurelie, "You'd better hurry, before she gets loud."

"Too late," she laughed.

After seating the couple and taking their drink order, Ginny went back and peered over Aurelie's shoulder at the photos.

"Those beaches are beautiful," she whispered in awe. "Why can't Paris have beaches?"

"You have to go south for that," Genevieve said matter-of-factly. "Jean and I went to the Mediterranean for our twenty-fifth anniversary. Nice, Cannes. We went to all the islands on the Mediterranean. They were spectacular. You girls should have a holiday down there! All those fine-looking young men with muscular chests."

Aurelie and Ginny exchanged wide-eyed, mirthful looks. Ginny had the sudden mental picture of Genevieve harassing the men on the beach – in her long, beaded dresses and feathered hats.

"Is this real, Genevieve?" Aurelie asked, lifting up Genevieve's shimmering green bag.

"Why, of course it is! That's the hide of a Common-Welsh Green. My other granddaughter Cécile bought that for my birthday a few years back! Speaking of Cécile, Christian," she said, snatching the bag out of Aurelie's hands. "She has just had her heart broken by her beau. "

"Oh, I'm sorry," Christian said, his eyes becoming amused as he filled a goblet with Genevieve's usual red wine.

"Sorry! Don't be sorry! Her own fault if you ask me. He's an _auror_ for the love of Merlin! She should have _known_ better."

Ginny choked on her water.

"But that gives _you_ sufficient opportunity!" Genevieve said, slapping Ginny on her back. "I am going to tell her to come in here tomorrow."

"She's lovely, I'm sure," Christian said. "Have a glass, Genevieve."

"They are so much in love," Aurelie sighed. She was gazing at a photograph, her chin propped in her hand. "They're not kissing or anything, they're just posing, but you can tell. You can just tell, can't you?" she asked, shoving the shot in Ginny's face.

Ginny peered at the rather handsome couple who were on the beach waving at the camera arm in arm; the waves of the sea foamed and crashed at their feet. "They look beautiful together."

"He's so _handsome_," Aurelie roared suddenly, peering closely at the photo. "Where did she find him, Genevieve?"

Genevieve launched into one of her usual hour-long stories and by the time she was finished, the sun had set completely and the tables outside twinkled with soft pixie lights, which fluttered in the trellis and bushes surrounding the patio.

"Turned out to be a lovely evening, didn't it?" smiled a lady, as Ginny set her drink on the outdoor table.

Ginny smiled. "Yes, it did. Did you need to see menus?"

"Oh, no," said the lady's companion, a burly man with a dark mustache, lifting the drink Ginny had just served him. "This is just what the healer conjured." They all laughed and Ginny told them to signal if they needed anything else. Her smile was still on her face when she caught the eye of the man at Aurelie's table—the one who had grinned at her earlier. However, after a very brief look, his attention was reluctantly turned toward his friend who had asked him something.

Blushing yet again and smiling a bit stupidly, Ginny walked back into the café only to have her arm grabbed roughly as she passed the bar.

"There you are, I need help."

"What is it?" Ginny asked in surprise as Brian, a huge roll of parchment under his arm, jumped off the stool he'd been sitting on and steered her away. "When did you get here?"

"You have to help me with this, I can't do it on my own. Bloody Mermish—" he swore so obscenely that a British couple seated nearby gasped and twisted around in their chairs.

"Would you kindly not use that language in my place of business?" Ginny asked him.

He snorted. "Place of business."

Ginny watched him with growing irritation. "Did you say you needed my help with something? Because I don't know that laughing at me is the way to go about asking."

"Sorry, look, it's that dialog thing for Mermish Composition. You finished that already, didn't you? I need you to tell me exactly what you wrote—"

"Hang on, I'm off in two hours, I can help you at home—"

"Has to be now love, I have way too much work to wait. Can't you take a small break—ten minutes?"

Ginny sighed. "I suppose. Here, let's sit at a table."

Ten minutes turned into thirty and thirty turned into her entire dinner hour, which consisted of a frustrated Brian and no dinner. Ginny had no qualms about helping Brian with his homework since he always did the same for her, however, every time she helped him, she found it extremely difficult not to scream her head off when he disagreed with every single suggestion she gave him.

"I can't do that," he said, irritably, as thought she'd been stupid for even suggesting such a thing. "If I did _that_, then I would have to change all of _this_, and then that would make this en_tire_ section obsolete. Because look…" As if to make her understand better, Brian slid his chair closer to her as he explained and Ginny tried to listen, but she suddenly became distracted at a very strong presence to the left and her eyes darted there out of instinct.

It was the wizard from Aurelie's table; only he was standing at the doorway, leaning through and looking directly at Ginny. His friends were gathered further back, obviously finished with their meal and waiting for him. Ginny watched his eyes flick to Brian and the arm that was slung casually across the back of Ginny's chair.

As if in slow motion, his handsome smile turned regretful; he lifted his hand in a gesture of defeat and made to leave. Ginny wanted to either shout across the room for him to WAIT or push Brian off the chair—anything to make it known that he was clearly mistaken.

"…And then I can put that up there—are you even listening to me?"

"What?" She turned to stare at Brian dimly. Then she chanced a glance back at the door. Gone.

"Ginny?"

"Of course I'm paying attention," she snapped finally. "I don't agree with anything you've just said."

It was Brian's turn to stare at her. "Well, why NOT?"

"I _told _you." And, mourning the lost opportunity, she went on to explain.

"Will you two stop the fighting," Aurelie said, leaning over and resting her arms on Brian's shoulders. "It's time for celebration. Aurelie has just made a date."

"Don't tell me. One of the blokes from the table outside?" asked Ginny.

"No—they were all a bit too eager. It's the one over there, see him?"

They all turned to look.

"Looks like his taste is a bit mature, love," Brian said to Aurelie.

"That's his _mother _with him. Isn't that sweet? He's taken her out to dinner for her birthday."

"Sweet," Ginny and Brian echoed.

"So—are you all set with this, then?" Ginny asked Brian a few minutes later when Aurelie had gone off to take another table and Ginny had finished explaining everything.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I can't wait until all of this—" he swore again—"gets finished and we never have to worry about homework again."

"I know," Ginny said, though she was assaulted with a little nervous flutter.

"Bloody buggering hell!" Brian exclaimed and Ginny blew out an annoyed breath.

"Will you _stop_—"

"Sorry. I'm late." He winked at Ginny. "Dominique doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I can only imagine. Glad I could be of help," she said sarcastically, then stopped. "Hang on—I thought you had all sorts of work to do at home!"

"I do. _After _Dominique."

Ginny mouthed soundlessly. "So in other words, rather than have me help you when I got home, you forced me to take an hour out of my _work _just so you could go on a _date_? BRIAN MCGUIRE, YOU—"

"No foul language in your place of business, love. Have to run, thanks!"

Ginny was left fuming and trying to figure out a way to ruin his date since he had most certainly ruined her chance of having one.

The evening passed rather quickly after that as the after-dinner crowed rushed in and by the time the last customers had finished dawdling, Ginny rushed to lock the doors. Aurelie left soon after that for her date, with Ginny assuring her that she and Christian could handle the cleanup and by the time they finished, it was nearing midnight and Ginny felt more energized rather than tired. They stepped out into the absolutely perfect evening and Christian nudged her arm.

"Walk to my place with me so you can Apparate home."

Ginny heaved a sigh—she often walked home with Christian at night because he didn't like her walking home alone and his flat was legal Apparition to hers.

"Actually, I think I'll go to the bridge—catch up on some owls."

He nodded. "Whom are you writing to tonight?"

Ginny smiled as they walked leisurely down Le Papillion's walkway, which led to the street's path. "Too many to list. I've been skiving off lately."

"Well, it's a nice night for it."

"Yeah," she sighed. "How about you? What will you do when you get in?"

Christian shoved his hands in his pockets. "Probably sleep." He sent her a sideways smile. "Double shift tomorrow—have to be there to open for breakfast."

Ginny nodded, her smile becoming pensive. There was always something so lonely about Christian. He had no family and no friends that Ginny knew of and he spent so much of his time working. It was almost as though Le Papillon was the main focus of his life—in both work and social aspects. While Ginny would never think less of him for it, and although Christian always seemed perfectly content with his life, she couldn't help feeling sorry for him just a little.

They chatted a bit before saying goodnight and soon after that, Ginny found herself curling up on the floor of her bridge and listening to the splashes of the water below. After seeing Christian walk off alone, knowing that he was he was going to an empty apartment only to wake up and do the same thing again tomorrow, Ginny couldn't help but feel grateful and more than a little guilty when she counted the number of letters she would have to write tonight.

Ginny always saved her mum for last when she wrote to everyone in succession because she was the easiest. After answering all of her mum's questions from the last owl, Ginny found herself going on a bit in her letter. She wasn't the least bit tired and the weather was perfect as she listened to the water splash beneath her. She detailed her day and week and went into how she'd run into Harry at the Ministry, how he'd saved her interview and how they'd come to sit for hours in some café this morning. Because their conversation at breakfast had steered towards Ginny's old friends, she found herself thinking more about leaving Paris and going home. It was a reality now that she had her interview and while some parts of her were so excited, there was the other side that was just plain scared to leave.

_It's good to see Harry, Mum. It really is. I find myself thinking about all the other people that I've "forgotten" while I've been here. Not that I've truly forgotten anyone, it's just when you don't hear their names, I suppose it's easy to sort of forget that they're a part of your life._

_Harry does seem different, and I don't know why that's surprising to me. I suppose I thought that I would be the only one to change in all this time and I would come home to surprise everyone. Now I wonder what it will be like when I do get home. Will everyone be different? Will I feel out of place? Because to me, I haven't changed at all, but I know everyone else thinks I have. Or perhaps that's the other way around. It makes coming home seem even more foreign a thing._

Ginny stopped and reread the last paragraph of her letter and thought of how much it sounded like something she might write in a journal. It made her remember another letter she'd written to her mother—just about four years ago at the end of her first year in Paris. Her heart had been light as she'd sat on the bridge and wrote paragraph after paragraph. Ginny absently leaned her head back against the stone wall and let her eyes wander over the dark sky as the past floated around in her head.

_I've found a flat mate, Mum. Now I don't want you to overreact, because this person has been a great friend to me all year. His name is Brian McGuire._

The very thought of it made her laugh out loud.

But then her smile faded when she thought about the rest of that old letter. It had started with her trying to explain just why Brian McGuire would be a good flat mate and had ended with her heart positively tumbling out of her chest and onto the page. She'd written so much that she'd had to cover both sides of the long roll of parchment, so much that her hand had cramped and her ink had almost run out. In trying to defend Brian to her mother, she'd admitted that he had probably saved her from quitting university and going back to England… that in being her friend, Brian had made her laugh for the first time since she'd arrived.

After a long time, she'd finally stopped writing and while reading the letter, she wondered why she didn't just quit the façade and go home if it was that painful. But the letter itself was her answer—it helped her more than she could say and in the end, when her heartache had finally passed into a quiet sort of peace, she'd tacked a few extra sentences onto the end.

_I'm sorry about going on like this, Mum. I'm not miserable, despite how this may sound. I'm happy now, I'm learning to love it here and I'm going to love getting a job and having my own place. I feel so good right now, though. Like I don't need to feel these things anymore since I've written them down. It helped to write them down._

She'd paused there.

_It's ironic, isn't it, but I really am the type of girl to keep a diary._

Ginny remembered having waited for her mother's response to that letter and every time the post had arrived, she would swear it was going to be a Howler. ("_WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE LIVING WITH A MAN!_") But it hadn't been any such thing. It had, actually, been the shortest letter her mum had ever written to her.

_Ginny,_

_For as long as you need me, I can be your diary._

_Mum_

Even now, thinking of that letter made her feel such a strong ache for her mother and it was only consoled by the fact that she would see her very soon….

Brian was sitting on the armchair in the living room when Ginny stepped into the flat later that night. He glanced briefly over his shoulder before turning back to his book and Ginny went over to Maurice to attach the letters to his leg.

"Take them to Mum, all right?" she instructed her bird. "She'll distribute them properly." Maurice squawked in agreement and with a swish of wings, flew out the window. Ginny watched him disappear into the night, then turned to Brian. "You're home early."

"Mmm," Brian muttered, his eyes never leaving the pages of the book. She might have started a fight then about his forcing her to waste her dinner break on him earlier, but she wasn't in the mood.

"You've finished your Mermish, then. Did it go alright?"

His answer was delayed, as he was seemingly unable to tear his eyes from the book. "Yeah. It was fine, thanks for that."

Ginny nodded. "What are you reading?"

Brian made an absentminded noise in the back of his throat. "Er… one of your Muggle novels…."

"Oh, which one?" Ginny asked curiously. It was a pastime of hers, reading Muggle literature. She found it fascinating, and her father had always made sure she was never without Muggle books as a child.

"Author is… Harper Lee?" he muttered, showing her the cover.

Ginny bent over the back of his chair, settling her arms over the top and peering at the pages over his shoulder. "I haven't read that one yet. Good?"

"Very."

"What's it about?"

"Mmm…" he muttered, still engrossed in the book. "It's American literature… strong characters."

"Well, hurry and finish so I can read."

"Right," he muttered absently. Then he lowered the book and tilted his head sideways. "There's room for two here."

Ginny sighed. Instead of rolling her eyes or coming up with some flippant retort, she plopped her head against the blanket that was strewn across the back of the chair. "Thanks, but no. I'm going to bed."

A spark ignited in Brian's light blue eyes. "Want company?"

Ginny scrunched up her nose and pretended to ponder the matter. She wondered what he would do if, for a joke, she were to lean over and whisper in agreement. Probably fall off the chair.

"Thanks, but no," she said instead, for the second time that night. "It was very kind of you to offer, though."

"Glad to." He gave a small wink, then lifted his book and became instantly engrossed. "'Night."

Ginny used his shoulder to push herself to her feet.

"Good night, Brian."

**Continue to Chapter Six**


	7. Chapter Six

Title: "Seeking Ginny" Author: Casca 

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts, H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N**: Thank you for waiting so long for this update. To quote Brian in this chapter: "It's about to get good." So hopefully you won't give up on me. :D

**A/N: This fic has been revised as of December 2005.**

Chapter Six

There were many streets weaving through the Parisian village of Lacasse. Some twisted and twirled into circles, some went over, under, or right through landmarks, some did all three. Most however, met at one central place: Lake Christelle. The lake was an odd sort of shape. Many said it looked like a giant L, others said it fashioned a T. Ginny rather thought, from the map she'd had to pour over during her first year in Paris, that it leaned more towards a Z. In any event, the lake was the very heart of Lacasse, as was its famous pier, Pier Benoit.

The great thing about Pier Benoit, named after the warlock who conjured it in 1609, was that it gave residents and tourists the opportunity to locate Merpeople's rock, an island located so far from shore that Merpeople often surfaced and lounged around it. Tourists had once flocked to Pier Benoit just to stand at the edge and peer towards the rock, waiting for the tiniest bit of movement or flash of green. Since the evolution of magical technology, however, new tools had been created to aid in viewing the rock and it was no longer necessary to wait in a long queue only to stand at the farthest point of the pier and squint out to sea.

All along the shore, there were stands that sold or hired out a thing called Spectaculars. These goggle-like glasses allowed people to position themselves anywhere on the Pier and view Merpeople's rock with stunning accuracy. Much of Lacasse's population owned several pairs of Spectaculars to save on hiring fees and avoid missing out on the biggest Merpeople parties should the hire period run out…and also to aid them in other things. Like spying on their neighbors. Spectaculars were everything the residents of Lacasse needed: a cheap solution to the need for gossip, an evening of entertainment at the pier and a gold-making tourist trap.

Or, if you were Harry Potter, they were merely insufficient imitations of every visual-aid instrument located in his office at home.

"Are you sure you can't see anything?" Ginny asked him, as he stood perfectly still, hands shoved into pockets and gazing out to sea through a pair of Spectaculars. "Anything at all?" she pressed.

"Nothing. I should have brought my X-Eyes."

Ginny smiled. "Perhaps these are defective; I can trade them in for another pair."

"I can see the rock okay, it's the Merpeople that seem to be missing."

"Oh, Harry, they're not there _all_ the time," Ginny explained and propped herself up on the rail, hooking her ankles around the bottom rungs. The water splashed against the rocks below. "They're probably just… waiting or something."

"For what?"

"Well… perhaps the party doesn't start for another hour," she suggested, casting a glance over her shoulder at the open water.

Harry turned his head to look at Ginny, forgetting to take off the Spectaculars and swaying on the spot. He pulled them off, straightened his own glasses and grinned. "Too bad we'll be at the Eiffel Tower by then."

"All right, _fine_, we'll go. I just have to accept the fact that you don't like this place. I loved it when I first came here."

"I hate Merpeople."

"Yes, you've said," she commented dryly and hopped off the railing.

"You would hate them too, if they'd threatened to kill you," he reasoned.

"I suppose."

It was early Friday evening and Ginny's night off from work. The weather had remained quite perfect since the sudden drop in temperatures earlier that week and after another downpour of rain, the evenings had actually been calling for a light cloak which Ginny currently held slung over her arm. Despite Harry's grumpiness toward Merpeople's rock, he seemed happy to be sightseeing after what he'd called "a stupid and pointless day".

As they stepped onto Rue Robertseau, Ginny told him about several landmarks they would pass on the way to Muggle Paris' entrance.

"This street will take us all the way there; it goes from one end of the city to the other." She hesitated a bit before stopping and pointing a thumb over her shoulder. "You can see l'Academie if you look down the opposite way."

Harry stopped and turned to look down the long, curvy street where the university's pale blue turrets and tall speared posts towered at the far edge of the city. He turned to Ginny, dark brows lifted, eyes surprised.

"That's your university?"

The startled and rather impressed look on his face made her smile. "Yeah… why do you look so surprised?"

"It's… bigger than I thought. From what I can see of it anyway," he said, gazing down the street in fascination. "It looks almost as big as Hogwarts."

"Oh, it's not," she said, shaking her head, although she felt a little twinge of pride at Harry's unabashed appreciation. "The fact that it's up on that hill and all the grounds surrounding it gives that impression though."

"It looks really nice," Harry commented as they started walking again.

"It is," Ginny said, smiling. "I love it. Anyway, back to the tour. See where the street splits up there? Well, if we wanted to go into Muggle Paris right now, we would stay on, but we're taking a detour so we're going to go right onto Rue Legrand and following it all the way behind Legrand Manor and into the cemetery."

"What's Legrand Manor?"

"It's where all the ghosts live," Ginny explained, standing on tiptoe and trying to see the tops of the dark, massive castle in the opposite direction of l'Academie. "I think the occupancy is up to eight hundred and fourteen now… or is it _nine _hundred and fourteen…? I can't remember. Anyway, they give tours and all that. Most of the ghosts are very nice."

Harry smirked. "Made friends with any?"

"No," she grinned. "I'll have to add that to the list of things that I want to try to do before I go home. It's starting to grow quite long, actually."

"How many years have you been here again?"

"Hmm? Oh, five."

"You're not ready to go home, then?"

"Oh, but I am. I'm very ready to go back, I can't wait. It's just… there are things I wish I could have done while I'd been here… or done more of, you know? I would have loved to travel round France more. I mean, I did travel a bit, but the truth is, I didn't have much time for it. During my time off, I always tried to either work more or spend the time going back to England."

Harry looked confused. "Did you visit home a lot? I can't remember seeing you at all."

Ginny shook her head. "No, I really didn't. I would plan to. If I had a few days free from lessons, I would pack a bag and Apparate to the station, but since it was always during holidays, the lines would be outrageously long that I'd just… turn around and come back. I couldn't risk not being able to get back in time for my lessons or work."

Harry nodded. "It's even worse than it used to be, Apparating. The waiting times for the public are horrendous."

"I _know,_ I can't believe it's going to take me days to get back home. Are they talking about lifting the laws yet? Anytime before July?" she added hopefully.

Harry smiled, but shook his head. "There are talks about lifting the laws, but it's a terrible idea." At Ginny's incredulous look, Harry continued, "Do you know how many travelers we've caught trying to smuggle illegal items in?"

"Really? _Still_? Like what?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. Dark potions…." Harry told her several names, some of which Ginny recognized as ones Death Eaters had been using in the war.

"They're still around, those? Who is brewing this stuff?"

"Who do you think?"

"Not…old Voldemort supporters?" she said incredulously.

Harry laughed sarcastically. "The war lasted only three years to most people, but the Ministry will be dealing with the repercussions for much longer."

Ginny shivered. Memories of those times came back all too clearly. "Is it public knowledge, what goes on? Or is the Ministry still fond of keeping everything cleverly concealed."

Harry shrugged. "They're not as bad as they sued to be, that's for sure. Things like potion-smuggling never make the front-page headlines anymore. I suppose people who really follow the news would know. But so far, every time things like this surface, we catch it and stop it, and nothing really comes of it."

"I suppose that's the only way to stamp it out for good," she said, and then shook her head bitterly. "I just can't get over it, though—I mean honestly, will there always be people out there who insist on practicing dark magic?"

"When the answer to that question is "no", I'll be out of a job."

Ginny smiled. "Well… you probably wouldn't have very much to worry about it if that happened. You're not a very big spender, Harry," she joked, steering the conversation away from the war. "Where are you living now?"

He looked sideways at her. "Your… mum hasn't told you?"

For some reason, Ginny's heart skipped a beat. "No… why?"

"Er…" He cleared his throat. "Remember Order headquarters?"

It took her a moment to comprehend it. "12 Grimmauld Place?" she blurted, turning to him, unable to conceal her blatant shock.

Harry was half smiling. "Yeah…why?"

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, but had to close it and chose her words carefully. "I just… it's a bit… surprising, that's all. I mean, I never thought …well…" She blew out a breath. Apparently, choosing her words carefully didn't mean anything at all. "It's unplottable still, then?" she asked finally, using that as the reason she was so shocked about it. Harry had once told her that he would never set foot in that place as long as he lived.

"No, not anymore. I've actually refurbished it a bit," he told her. "Given most of the old furniture away to charity… sold off a few… portraits."

"Sold?" she asked with interest. "How did you manage that?"

"Well, when you sell them for the right price to the right… er, people…."

Ginny's brow shot up. "I don't think I want to know anymore, thanks. Were any of them, erm, difficult to remove?"

Harry smirked. "Not after I announced that I was moving in."

The cemetery was a bit creepy. Ginny had never visited Jacques the Jaunty's gravestone after dark, so when they arrived and saw only a select few tourists wandering the hundreds of tombs among a majority of mingling ghosts, she and Harry exchanged looks before venturing forth. Nevertheless, it was difficult not to laugh at the ghost who was trapped inside his own tomb and amusing himself by giggling incessantly. Ginny asked another ghost, who had paused to call hello to Jacques, exactly how he'd become trapped and this caused a rather excitable group of ghosts to come together and reenact how it had come about. Ginny found herself holding her side from laughing and even Harry, who didn't understand one word of the story since the ghosts were speaking in French, let out a bark of laughter when one broke apart from the skit to gasp at his own tomb and fall to the ground, sobbing.

After the cemetery, they wound their way back down Rue Legrand and took Rue Robertseau into Muggle Paris and there, they went around and saw many tourists' attractions, using some well-known Apparition spots that were cleverly hidden from Muggles. Harry finally saw his Eiffel Tower and Ginny had to bite back a grin when the only comment he had for it was, "bit filthy, isn't it?" When they finally became tired of sight seeing, they agreed to start walking back to the entrance of Lacasse and did so at a slow pace, stopping to buy ice cream again at Ginny's insistence that she pay this time.

"So…what's new with Ron and Hermione?" Ginny asked Harry, licking her scoop of chocolate, then grinning maliciously at him. "Any good fights lately?"

Harry's shoulder jerked on a laugh. There was a moment's silence, then, "You know how they are."

"Yes, I do. I know all too well how they are. I miss them." Harry looked at her and she allowed herself another grin. "Yes, I even miss Ron. Mad, eh?"

"Mad."

"Well… it's like, I hate missing out on all the little things, you know? It makes me think that I'll have been… I dunno, left out of everything and it will all seem different and—" she allowed herself a bit of a pout—"nobody will want to be my friend anymore because I'll have missed all the fun."

A reluctant grin spread across his face for a moment before silence slipped between them again. He tossed what was left of his cone into a bin. "Things have changed a bit, I suppose."

Ginny took a crunchy bite of her cone. "I'm sure. Everyone has jobs and their own places."

"Not Ron. He still lives at home."

"Yeah, but that's Ron. Lazy as always. Anyway, I hear he works lots of hours so he's never home. And the twins, too, what with that book they wrote – whatever that means, I doubt they actually did any writing – and the new shop opening and all that."

Harry nodded. "Everyone works a lot."

"Yes, well I hear _you_ win that prize," she said, smiling. Harry looked at her sideways and lifted his brow. "For working the most," she supplied, her voice tinged with humor. "I remember Dad always talking about the hours that Aurors put in, that sometimes they could never even go home at night." She grinned then. "He used to say that to us when we complained that he worked so late and I would think how lucky I was that I wasn't the daughter of an Auror."

Harry smiled. "Your dad works hard. Always has."

"Yeah… Mum never complained about it, but I always knew that it bothered her a bit, you know? She hated seeing him work so much. So… do you still get to spend a lot of time with Ron and Hermione, then? Or does your work cut into that more often than not?"

"More often than not."

"Oh, I'll bet they're really annoying about it," Ginny said, grinning. "Do they pester you about working so much?"

"No. They get engaged."

It took a moment for Ginny to fully appreciate his words—he'd said them so easily and the conversation until then had been so uneventful that she'd started to nod in agreement. But then the impact of what he'd said hit her and something in her heart leapt as she whipped around to face him.

"They… they're _engaged_!" she shrieked. "What—how—when—_why_ didn't they tell me!" she blurted clumsily, a mixture of excitement and outrage coursing through her.

"Hold on," Harry said in a low voice, looking at once regretful. "Ginny…"

"Is it true? It _is_! Why didn't anyone tell me! _Just_ because I live in a different country does _not_ mean—_what_ is it?" she said impatiently as Harry continued to mumble incoherently.

"Look, the reason you don't know is because _nobody_ knows," he said a worried voice. "I'm the only one and it can't get back to your family, so you can't say anything about it to them."

"But—but— but—" she sputtered.

"It's a secret, Ginny, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone—"

"Well, why _not_, what are they waiting for? Is Ron getting cold feet?" she demanded.

"No," Harry laughed wearily, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. "I… don't know what they're waiting for, they just aren't telling anyone yet, so… please, you can't tell anyone you know. Not even your mother. Especially not your mother."

"Well, when are they going to—"

"I have no more information. Sorry."

Ginny blew out a huge breath and planted a hand on her hip. "I just bet you don't. You know everything. Tell me."

Harry shook his head. "Please, just… try to forget that you know. Please?"

"As _if_. Come on, Harry, just—" But she broke off with an exaggerated groan when he looked pointedly in the other direction. Honestly, what was he _thinking_, blurting it out like that and expecting to remain silent? After about twenty torturous seconds of staring at his profile as though she could will him to talk, Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Fine. Have it your way then. I, for one, cannot be_lieve_ this. Do you know what's so amazing? I just… _can't believe_ my brother _actually_ _asked_ Her_mi_one to—wait, he _did_ ask her, didn't he?" she demanded in a deadly voice, turning to look at Harry and almost tripping over a curb. "Oh, please tell me _she _didn't ask him, oh, that would be just so _typ_ical of Ron, wouldn't it? Harry!"

Harry gave her a pained look. "Ginny."

"Oh, go _on_ with you, I won't tell anyone, I swear."

He shook his head and took a slow, deep breath.

"He asked her."

And that was the last bit of information Ginny could get from him.

It should have been easy to keep the secret. Because Ginny didn't see her family everyday it should have been more than simple to just … not write and share the news. However, since nearly every member of her family had decided to write to _her_ that weekend, including Ron and Hermione, it was a challenge. As she scribbled a response to George's short note, it was all she could do not to gloat that she knew something he didn't and it was twice as tempting not to casually mention to Hermione that she would murder her if she even thought about choosing wedding robes without her.

After rereading the rather uneventful letter to Hermione, Ginny dared to stop and wonder whether it would be all that bad if she were to just… tell Hermione that she knew. Hermione was probably _dying_ to talk to someone else about it …someone female, that is. Someone with whom she could giggle and talk about all the details and act like … like a girl.

Chewing on her quill, Ginny slid back into her chair and thought very carefully about the consequences. It _would_ be going against her promise to Harry, but really, he could be so dramatic at times. She wondered if he was just being stupid. Although he _had _been rather nervous about the entire thing. Perhaps it was something that her brother and Hermione really and truly wanted to keep quiet.

But so what if it was?

First of all, Ginny didn't understand that. _Why_ keep the news hidden? Everyone had been waiting years for this very thing; it wasn't as though it would exactly be shocking news or anything. If it were _her_ wedding—but Ginny stopped that thought with a lift of her brow. If it were her wedding, she would probably refrain from telling her brothers for as long as possible to avoid the teasing. But that was the only reason—Hermione wouldn't tease, Hermione would be a wonderful person to share the news with. Hermione would be one of the first to know… probably.

_Definitely_.

Hermione was like her sister—

Ginny's thoughts broke as a good feeling spread into her heart.

Sister.

Honestly, Harry was being so ridiculous—_he _knew, why couldn't _she_ know? Ginny had wanted a sister for all of her twenty-three years; this event was as special to her as it was to anyone else. And besides, she had always been very talented at keeping secrets so it wasn't as though Hermione had reason to be worried that she would spread the word. After all, _Harry_ hadn't been all that secretive… he'd blurted it out as though there was no secret at all….

But he _had_ regretted it immediately and hadn't said another word for the entire walk to the flat….

Ginny gave a long and confused sigh as the door opened and Brian walked in.

"What's wrong?" he asked and Ginny made a noise in the back of her throat, still staring at the parchment and chewing on her quill.

"I know a secret."

"Does it involve me?" he asked at once.

"No, it—"

"Oh, well don't tell me, you'll only regret it."

Ginny huffed out a breath. "I wasn't going to, I was–hang on. You don't even know my brother… or Hermione."

"Hmm? You're brother's girlfriend?"

"Yeah… but it's not like you know them at all—you just know them from what I've told you…" she reasoned.

Brian was looking at Ginny very peculiarly. "I… never said I knew them personally."

"I know, I'm just thinking that if I tell _you _the secret, it won't make a difference because—why are you shaking your head?"

"Because you shouldn't tell me."

"But, _why_?" she whined, almost stomping her foot. "I've got to tell _some_body, Bri, and you're not important—"

"Stop, love, you're flattering me."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I meant you're not important to _them_—well, you are of course, since you're my friend, but—well, you know what I mean—it won't make any difference to _you_—"

"That's exactly why you shouldn't tell me. I won't be properly outraged or excited or whatever, because I don't know the people involved."

"But, so what?" she laughed, thinking he was being ridiculous. He wasn't making any sense at all. This was clearly big news to her and since when did he care about such technicalities?

"Seriously, Gin, don't tell me," he said, his face absolutely impassive. He moved to grab a newspaper that was lying on the worktop and opened it up.

"Well," she said at last, thinking it wasn't worth a fight, which it quite oddly seemed to be turning into. "I suppose I don't _need_ to tell you, that's all right. I don't know what's happening to me, though," she commented, setting down her quill and capping the ink- bottle. "I'm usually very good at keeping secrets."

Brian was silent at this and when Ginny turned to look at him, she saw that one of his eyebrows was arched as he leaned against the worktop, scanning his article. All of a sudden, Ginny felt something uneasy slip into the pit of her stomach. He hadn't said anything at all and the look on his face was more vacant than anything, but just as she'd felt the other night when she'd told him about Harry, Ginny could sense… something. Something not right.

When she'd first met Brian, Ginny had been trying with everything she had to forget that Harry Potter existed and it had been such a complete exorcism of her feelings that in the end, Ginny had become almost immune to anything connected to him. Hearing his name on the street, reading about him from letters and seeing his photographs in the papers had stopped affecting her the way it once had. In fact, it didn't affect her at all—it was like hearing about what was happening with someone she'd been merely acquainted with in school… a distant friend or an old acquaintance. And so, when Brian had come along, reading his worldly newspapers and mentioning Harry Potter doing this and accomplishing that, she would comment with the detached interest that she'd truly and honestly felt.

Ginny stared unseeingly down at the parchment, her mind going in circles, trying to decipher if she was being overly sensitive. It was on the tip of her tongue to just ask him if there was anything wrong … but something held her back.

Feeling suddenly out of place in her own home, Ginny slid her chair back from the table. "All right, so do you want to go out to dinner later?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Brian said, setting the paper aside. "I have homework first, though."

"As do I," Ginny nodded, and when he didn't say anything else, she gathered her parchment and ink. "Well…I'll be in my room… let me know if any post arrives?"

"Right."

And that was that.

The underlying feeling that Brian was angry with her continued to exist in Ginny's mind for the next few days even though Brian hadn't acted any differently at all after that initial conversation (or lack thereof) in the kitchen. But Ginny just couldn't forget his odd reaction to her secret and she found herself hiding the fact that she was in touch with Harry now. Part of her couldn't wait until they all went home so that Brian could see that, as much as she and Harry were trying to pretend that they were great friends now as it was the only thing to do while he was in Paris, Harry was Ron's friend, not hers.

After the initial rush of letters from her family at the beginning of the week, Ginny received two more towards the middle of the week, one from Sarah and one from her mum.

Sarah's was thick with apologies and regrets that she wouldn't be able to visit France at the end of term as they had always planned. She had been promoted at her job (from receptionist to private secretary) and she was currently traveling with her employer who held "a very important position at the Ministry." Sarah didn't go on to specify which position that was—she'd been too busy apologizing for nearly four pages.

When Ginny finally finished reading Sarah's letter, she felt a stab of sadness. She had been very much looking forward to Sarah coming to France and meeting all of her Paris friends and traveling around with her. What with being so involved in the lives of Brian and Aurelie and Christian and everyone, Ginny found herself feeling quite distanced from Sarah over the past months. She had truly wanted to get back the same bond they'd shared for so long and traveling round France had been just the thing Ginny had hoped for.

She started in on her mother's letter then, glad to have the flat to herself. Brian had gone to meet a date and Maurice was at his perch by the window as Ginny curled up on the sofa, sipped her cup of tea, opened the parchement and started to read….

Three months. Three _months_. Ginny stared at the words in utter confusion, ignoring Maurice's squawking to be let out. Apparently, Harry had been away from home for three months.

It wasn't so much that he hadn't made a physical appearance, Molly explained, but since he'd left three months ago (without telling anyone that he was leaving, mind) he hadn't been in contact with anyone. Not Ron, not Hermione… not anyone. The only reason everyone from home knew that Harry was _in_ France was because the Daily Prophet had announced that he was to be attending the Auror's Convention.

Ginny's mum managed to finalize the over-wrought letter with a few words of reassurance to Ginny that Harry _did _do this often as his job required it, and he couldn't keep in touch most of the time _any_way because it was often dangerous to send owls from his location. But three months _was_ an unusually long time for him to be away without so much as a word and if Ginny was able to get in contact with him, would she please ask him to get in touch with Ron or Hermione?

Ginny reread the letter again and sat on the sofa for a few good minutes before sending off a very brief note to her mother. She assured her that Harry was quite healthy and doing fine, that she didn't know when she would see him next because school was keeping her very busy right now, but she would definitely mention something to him if she did run into him again.

However, Ginny was not going to do anything of the sort. She was, in fact, rather angry. So she was supposed to be in the middle of this now, was she? She was, all of sudden, the connection everyone had to Harry. And it wasn't just any Harry. It was a Harry who hadn't been in contact with anyone for three months, a Harry who had failed to mention this to Ginny and had actually probably lied about it in one of their dull conversations over the past weeks. And there had been many dull conversations, so many in fact that Ginny couldn't possibly remember every pointless thing they had talked about. She was sure, however, that they _had_ talked about home, which would have been a prime opportunity to tell her that he hadn't been there for three months, much less been in contact with any of the people that they had spoken about as well.

But he hadn't. He'd left it out. Or lied. Ginny couldn't remember which, but it was the same thing really. Harry was keeping something from everyone and she was right in the middle of it.

Actually, she wasn't right in the middle of it. Not for long anyway. Because she was going to completely remove herself from the middle and anyone who didn't find that convenient would just have to live with it. She was not going to provide her mother with information on Harry and she certainly wasn't going to play confidant to the Harry who was now before her and try to find out why he'd disappeared for three months and why he hadn't written, blah blah _blah_.

Her life was far too full without Harry Potter barging into it again – in any respect.

There was a knock on her door later that evening and since she'd put to rest her bitterness over being in the middle of Harry's problems and had thrust away the stabbing guilt because she was willing to just dismiss them, the thought that she would come face to face with the man himself at her threshold never dared to enter her mind.

"Hey," said Harry uncomfortably, as though someone had forced him to come.

Ginny regarded him with wary eyes. It wasn't enough that he had showed up in Paris, in _her _world, but now he was appearing unannounced at her flat as well?

"I didn't mean to intrude or anything," he said quickly, his eyes nervously darting to hers. "But I sort of needed to talk to you."

Her brow shot up. He sounded matter-of-fact and serious and she almost sighed with resignation that he might just bring up the very news she'd heard from her mother last night.

"You're not intruding at all. Come on in. It's messy," she said unnecessarily as she stepped back to let him in. It wasn't a record-breaking mess, but it was well on its way. "I haven't had the chance to do much today."

Harry looked as if he'd just realized he was in a place he'd never been before. "Oh… it's nice," he said lamely. "You've got a lot of room."

"Yeah, we—" She bit down on her tongue. Hard. "—do." She really didn't want him to question just who 'we' consisted of.

But he seemed not to have heard her. "Listen, what I wanted to talk to you about is… well…."

Ginny stood, pretending to look curious, while rapidly trying to think of what her response was going to be.

"I wanted to tell you," Harry continued gravely, "how very important it is that you don't tell Ron and Hermione that you know about the engagement."

He'd said it so bluntly, looking so completely honest that Ginny opened her mouth to respond to something else. "What?" she asked in confusion a moment later.

"It's just… very important that they don't know I've told you, Ginny," he said seriously. "Even after they've told you themselves. I know it's awful of me to ask you to lie, but I wouldn't do it if it wasn't extremely important."

Ginny shook her head and searched for something to say. "I—it's fine. I told you I wouldn't say anything—"

"No, really, I need to have your word on it."

"Harry," she said on a sudden laugh. "I'm sure you're making more of this than you need to. I don't think they would be as angry as you make it seem."

But Harry started shaking his head before Ginny had even finished. "I knew you'd say that," he said impatiently. "You have to understand, Ginny…" he trailed off and Ginny looked at him peculiarly.

"Well, what is it then?" she asked at last.

Harry stood for a moment, looking torn. Then he ran his hand slowly through his thick hair and Ginny's eyes strayed absently to his forehead and suddenly-revealed scar.

"Look," he said, his voice suddenly sharp. "The reason they haven't told anyone about this yet is because they're waiting for _you_."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "Me?"

"They didn't want everyone else to find out before you did and rather than send you a note with the big news, they decided to wait until you were home to announce it to everyone. That's why you can't tell them that I told you," he pressed, his eyes looking directly into hers. "It… it was an accident and I didn't mean to say it, it just sort of came out, but if they knew I'd told you, they would go mad."

A minute ago, Ginny didn't think she could be more confused, but her bewilderment seemed to multiply. For a minute, she stared at him, a complete loss as to what to say. And then, because she just couldn't leave well enough alone, she demanded,

"Does this have anything to do with why you haven't been home in three months?"

Harry's brow shot up. Ginny stared in horror. Why, why, _why_ had she said it? Her mouth opened, then closed … then opened again and closed again. As she stood there like a gaping fish, she saw a tiny window of escape—it was small, but she could probably crawl through by insisting that she was stupid for bringing that up and her mother was worried and overreacting in a letter and he could just forget that she'd said anything at all.

Yeah, right.

"I've just received a letter from Mum," she explained, looking at him squarely, trying not to jump to conclusions, but failing. She knew damn well this wasn't some big mistake and now it was going to have to be blown up. Because, as she knew all too well, she _couldn't_ leave well enough alone. "She mentioned how worried she was, seeing as it's been so long since anyone's heard anything from you."

The expression of utter confusion on his face became slowly mingled with suspicion. "You…wrote to her about me?"

"Yes," she said carefully, "I was writing to her after we'd had breakfast that morning and I told her about it. But she already knew you were here from the Daily Prophet."

Harry looked bewildered. "So… if she knows I'm here, then why is she so worried?"

"Well… it's not just Mum. Ron and Hermione, too. Apparently, they thought that you couldn't keep in contact with anyone but when they found out that you'd been in contact with _me_, well…" she trailed off, looking at him closely. "I suppose they were a bit … curious why you hadn't written."

Harry breathed through his nose. "I wish they'd stop… doing this. My job has restrictions. There are things I can't do and…" He shook his head in frustration.

Loyalty to her family had Ginny narrowing her eyes, "I'm sure they're just concerned about you, Harry. Obviously if you've been owling me, then they see no reason why you can't owl them. Is it some sort of distance problem; you can't send post to a different country, or…?"

"Look," he said in a patient voice, as if he was going to explain something that she probably wouldn't understand, "It's complicated, all right? There are reasons I can't keep in touch and reasons I have to be away for so long. Do they think I want to be away? Is that it?"

"I don't know what they think, Harry," she said, lifting a hand and letting it fall back to the cushion. "All I know is that it's rather odd to just leave and not write for months."

Harry shook his head impatiently, as if it was pointless to argue with her because she wouldn't understand. Then he stopped suddenly, as if realizing something. "You did it for years."

Ginny's lips parted in surprise. "What are you—I've kept in touch with everyone."

His eyes met hers in a dull challenge. "I don't remember ever receiving a letter from you."

There was a moment where they simply looked at one another while she thought of a response. "You never wrote to me, either," she finally managed, completely taken aback.

"A bit of a difference, there."

"How is that?" she demanded.

"I don't write to anyone," he said dryly. Then he shrugged. "Look, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, but you're nobody to talk about keeping in touch when you clearly didn't make an enormous effort."

"If you wanted to know how I was all you needed to do was ask my family. Or write to me yourself. Nobody has heard from you. They _can't_ ask anyone how you are and they thought they _couldn't _write to you."

"Right, it's my life, Ginny," he said in a final sort of way. "I don't have to explain anything to anyone."

"When people _care_ about you, you have an obligation to them, you can't just—"

"What? Not write? You're a bloody hypocrite telling me this when you never bothered to write a damn letter to me in five years."

Ginny opened her mouth to respond when a discreet cough announced another presence in the room. She and Harry both turned, startled, towards the front door that was open. Brian was standing inside the room, looking from one to the other warily. Ginny felt her heart sink slowly.

"Sorry."

Brow arched, Brian walked passed the two of them into his bedroom and closed the door sharply.

"Right," Harry said shortly and pulled out his wand. With a _pop_, he was gone.

Ginny remained where she was, staring at the spot where Harry had been, her mind absolutely reeling.

"What was that about?"

She whirled around to see Brian standing at the door to his room.

"I… have no idea," she said wearily, shaking her head and pushing off from the back of the sofa. She tossed the cushion aside.

"Why didn't you tell me that you used to go out with him?"

Ginny's eyes flew to his and when she deduced that he was serious, she blurted, "I've never gone out with him."

Brian's brow went up even farther, obviously suggesting otherwise.

"I haven't," she exclaimed.

But Brian narrowed his eyes, a mixture of confusion and aggravation playing over his face. "Why do you feel you have to lie to me, Ginny?"

"I'm not lying to you, I did not go out with him," she said between her teeth.

"But you were good friends with him," he said, looking at her suspiciously.

"Not really," Ginny snapped, furious at the way he was looking at her. "And what if I had? Gone out with Harry? What's it to you?"

"I don't give a damn if you did, Ginny, I just don't understand why you lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you!" she exclaimed, completely frustrated. "I never said I didn't know him."

"Oh, don't give me that."

"No, don't start with all of this, Brian. I _know_ you've been angry about that, but really—"

"No, _really_, Ginny," he interrupted her. "We've had conversations about him—long ones. Ones in which I've spoken at length about the sort of work he's done and it never crossed your mind to mention that you knew him personally? My God, he's Harry Potter!"

"Right, shut up with that, won't you!" she yelled, her temper exploding.

"It's the TRUTH!" he shouted. "It's important enough for you to mention it, so why didn't you?"

"Have you told me every single stupid thing about your life?" she shot at him, panic and fury and shame all skidding to a halt in her chest. She would _not_ let this turn into a conversation about her history with Harry. That was none of Brian's damn business. "It's a little detail of my past that I didn't feel like sharing."

"Your past," he pressed, looking at her closely, but she refused to say another word on it and snapped her gaze to the window. "Right," he said sarcastically. "You know what, don't tell me the truth. Write to _Sarah _about it."

Ginny didn't have the chance to respond—Brian left the flat, sending the door crashing into its frame.

It was completely horrible, spending an entire day anticipating telling your best friend your deepest, darkest secret. Ginny knew that she had to tell Brian the real reason she'd kept Harry a secret at first and it was a testimony to how long it had been since she'd truly thought about it that she dreaded bringing it all up and feeling that shame and humiliation again. Not to mention the fact that she would have to share it with Brian, whose opinion, Ginny admitted to herself, meant a lot to her.

It made her slightly bitter as well—not towards Brian, but towards the entire situation… and towards Harry. If he hadn't bloody shown up here—in _her_ world—she wouldn't be in this predicament.

And she did feel cheated. Harry coming here had cheated her out of so much. Granted, it had been awhile since she'd actually thought about it, but in the beginning, playing over the scene in her mind—her grand homecoming as a changed woman and Harry witnessing every minute of it – had been such a huge thing to hold onto. Somewhere very, very, _very_ deep inside of her had always dared to think that her return would be it—the change, the drive, the _push_ Harry needed in order to finally see her. And she would be so triumphant because she would have stopped caring about him that way and she would be able to live her life and finally be happy and Harry would be the one wanting. Oh, it had been such a fantasy back then, such a _good_ place for her to go when she felt positively miserable and alone and so far away from home….

But that was shot to hell now. There would be no grand entrance, there would be no triumph for her. Hadn't she realized back then, that where Harry was concerned, she would _never_ come out on top? And even though she harbored none of that stupid, pathetic hope anymore, he was here to remind her, wreaking havoc on her life without even knowing it. How bloody predictable.

She and Harry were not best friends. They'd shared something of a closeness when there had been a war going on, but that had been very long ago and things had changed so drastically that Ginny was now in a place where she could admit that it was time to stop pretending. It was the pretenses that always destroyed her where Harry was concerned and she couldn't believe that after all this time, she was still participating in it.

Harry had once been something huge to her and now that he wasn't… well, there was just nothing left. No friendship. Nothing. Their entire relationship had probably existed only in her mind… and her heart.

It didn't take a mastermind to figure out that Harry had problems right now. He needed something Ron and Hermione and the rest of the family obviously couldn't give him. It had happened _so many _times over the years, and in the old story it was _she_ who would always step up and try to be that something he needed. But she couldn't do that now—it wasn't only that she didn't want to—it just wasn't possible anymore. She wasn't the same person—_Harry_ wasn't the same person. She didn't know him like she used to, and she didn't harbor any pretense that she _could_ help him.

And if she had to drag everything up again, if she was going to tell Brian the entire truth, then it was the perfect time to remember it, for her own sake.

She could never be what Harry needed, simple as that.

"Ginny."

She nearly jumped out of her skin. The tray of dirty glasses she was balancing on her hip wobbled.

There he was again, appearing out of nowhere in the middle of her life, like a ghost. Or a thief. He stood there wearing his formal work robes and his glasses and looking so out of place that Ginny had to look around to make sure she hadn't accidentally Apparated somewhere else.

"How… did you know I worked here?" was all she could think of to say.

"You told me," he said, drawing his brow. "At the Ministry, remember?"

"Oh." It seemed like an age ago, that day. "Right. Sorry."

"I didn't mean to interrupt your shift, but your… friend said that you were working, so…."

Friend? He'd been to the flat. Brian had spoken to him. Ginny tried not to think about how that conversation might have gone.

"I thought we might… talk, if you're not too busy…." Harry looked around the café.

"Right," she said again, looking around herself and noting that all of her customers were happily eating. "Erm… I suppose I can take a break, let me just take this tray up to the bar."

"I'll wait outside," Harry said, ducking his head and Ginny noticed a couple at a nearby table gawking at him.

She agreed and, handing the tray to Christian, muttered to that she was taking a short break. Christian was frowning impatiently at Aurelie who was sitting atop the bar flirting with a customer so Ginny assured him that she wouldn't be long.

She met Harry outside, a short way down the trellis-lined path, which led to the walkway. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his robes and he was staring at the ground, pacing slowly back and forth. Seeing him there, looking so much like himself, on the path that she'd walked hundreds of times over the past few years was so strange to her… like a quick flash of the past in a present day setting.

"Hey," she called.

"Hey," he said, straightening a little. There was a brief silence as Ginny stopped in front of him and for a moment, they regarded each other a bit awkwardly. Then they both began speaking at once.

"About yesterday—"

"Harry—"

They broke off and Ginny waited.

"Look, Ginny….I didn't mean to… say those things," Harry stammered. "I just… I get frustrated when everyone acts like this about my job and—"

"Harry," she interrupted wearily, holding up a hand, "you don't have to explain anything to me. The truth is I had no business asking you about any of it."

Harry shook his head. "No… obviously you were curious because of what your Mum wrote and—"

"No, Harry wait," she interrupted before he could go any further. "Mum was wrong for writing to me about you. I'm not… you and I are not… really… friends anymore."

He looked up quickly and Ginny squeezed her eyes shut.

"I most certainly did _not_ mean that the way it sounded. Look, Harry we just… we just lost touch over the years, right? I mean five years is a really long time not to speak with someone. It was nobody's fault or anything, but… it just happened."

She paused a minute. "The past few weeks have been fun, haven't they? Sightseeing and everything. I mean, we _are _friends, you know that. It's just, after all this time, it's—it was stupid of me to act like you've lied to me about not writing home… or … or even demand to know why. The truth is, it's none of my business and… it was really rude of me to jump to conclusions about what Mum said in her letter."

He shook his head. "I should have said something, I…well…five years is a long time. I suppose I just… forgot that I could, you know… that I could talk to you."

Ginny swallowed. "Well, we've both changed a lot, haven't we?"

"You have. I … wouldn't have known you if I didn't… know you," he finished, looking rather confused at his own statement and Ginny let out a laughing breath.

"Okay. Good. I'm glad you're not… angry or anything."

He shook his head. "No. Not angry." A look of recollection came to his face. "Oh… I hope your… friend, er…doesn't think I'm a git."

Ginny looked at him with confusion before it dawned on her. "Oh. Oh… right. That was Brian McGuire, my flat mate."

Harry nodded, smiling a little. "Another thing I didn't know that I'm sure someone must have mentioned to me—or… does your family know about that?" he asked in a low voice.

"Brian? Yeah, they know him, they've—oh." She broke off and sighed. "Right. Brian is my friend, Harry. Just friend."

She watched the oh, so familiar look come into his eyes—the same look that everyone had when she told them that she and Brian weren't a couple. She was so tired of explaining about Brian to everyone and it was only going to get worse when they got home.

"Seriously," she protested. "He's my friend. I wouldn't be… living with him if he was more, which is ironic, but the truth."

Harry's eyes changed from slight suspicion to dawning realization.

"Right," he said quickly. "Right, of course."

Ginny shook her head. "Don't worry, you're not the first to draw that conclusion. And you will not be the last."

He nodded, looking uncomfortable and they lapsed into silence for a few moments. Then, once again, they both began speaking at the same time.

"Well—"

"I suppose I should—"

They broke off and Ginny forced a grin. "I suppose I should get back in there."

"Yeah," Harry said hastily. "Well… I expect I'll… see you…"

"Right…listen, why don't you stop in before you leave Paris? To say goodbye?"

"Sure," he said quickly, looking relieved that she had taken that matter into her hands. "I will. Thanks for everything, Ginny, really."

"You too," she smiled.

Then they parted ways, Harry down the long path to where the street began and Ginny back to her café.

It wasn't long before the night ended and after the last customers had left and Christian had bolted the door, there was a knock on it. Ginny turned to stare at it in surprise. There was really only one person who would knock after hours and as Christian was silently wiping down tables and Aurelie was counting her tips at the bar, Ginny went to open the door for Brian.

"Ready?" he asked, not meeting her eyes. He'd come to walk her home.

Ginny had been counting on the walk alone to think about how she would begin to explain everything when she got back to the flat. But there he was, and Ginny's heart felt heavy as she grabbed her handbag and turned to the others.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" she said to her friends, receiving only a distracted smile from Aurelie and a nod from Christian. She frowned, thinking that everyone was in a rather foul mood today and followed Brian out the door.

"They seemed a bit weird tonight. Did something happen?" Brian asked her, sounding only semi-interested. Ginny knew he was only asking for something to say and she was glad that he'd spoken first.

"I don't know," Ginny said honestly as they fell into step outside. "I really didn't have the chance to talk to them tonight."

Brian nodded and they lapsed into silence. It was up to her now, she realized. She would have to explain it all to him and the thought suddenly made her feel like she was being smothered. She didn't want to bring it up. Not here. Not now, when she was finally in the position of never having to relive it again. But she had to.

"Look, Bri, about yesterday," she began.

But Brian shook his head. "You don't have to explain, Ginny. It's none of my business."

"Yes it is," she said, feeling suddenly and completely miserable. "Because I did lie to you. I just… I didn't know that… that we would wind up being such close friends. I didn't think it mattered if I told anyone about Harry because I never imagined that…" She shook her head. "I don't know. I just don't know. Harry…."

"Gin, you don't have to tell me," Brian said firmly. "It's not my business. No," he interrupted when she started to protest, "It's not. I was being selfish. I do that often," he said, sending her a sideways smirk. "And you've put up with a lot from me so… we're even, love, don't worry about it."

A hot lump lodged itself in her throat. She was afraid to speak, afraid of how weak her voice would sound and even though she wanted to be bigger than this and tell him everything because she owed it to him, she found that she was willing to take the out that Brian was offering. She supposed a worse friend would demand to know.

There was a long silence as they walked and Brian began to talk about Quidditch and who was likely to wind up in the world cup this year. Ginny commented back, but just couldn't get excited about it. There was something still between them and Ginny knew it would never be okay, at least not with her, until she put it right.

"I don't like to talk about Harry."

There was a brief pause before Brian said in a hurried voice, "You don't have to."

"I know," she nodded. _But maybe I need to_.

And maybe she did. Maybe the getting over Harry process wasn't as complete as she'd thought. Maybe she needed Brian, her strongest link to life after Harry, to know about it.

A fresh breeze washed over them. Ginny watched the ground as they walked, their dark shadows moving along the pebbled path.

"I came to Paris to distance myself from Harry. I couldn't talk about him… or think about him. My first year here was not fun."

He nodded. "I remember."

She looked up at him quickly. "Remember?"

"I knew there was something wrong with you at first," he said slowly. "But after a while, I just figured that it was a mental illness."

It took her a moment to realize it was a joke. She broke into a grin. And then, after a moment, her smile faded.

"I was in love with him."

The words hung in the air. Ginny realized that she had never said them out loud before.

"We never dated," she was quick to say. "I didn't lie to you about that."

Brian looked at her and there was confusion there. "Right. Sorry."

Ginny shook her head. "It's okay. I'm used to people assuming that I'm dating blokes that I'm friends with."

Brian grinned, but was very quiet as they continued to walk and Ginny sighed a bit after a few minutes.

"Look, Bri, don't … don't think that Harry… I mean to say, I would hate to think that your image of him is changed—what?"

Brian had arched an eyebrow aimed at her in disbelief. "Ginny. The only image I have of Harry Potter now is the one where I punch his bloody lights out for whatever the hell he did to you."

Ginny clasped a hand to her mouth in horror. "Brian. Don't say that."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because," she said, shaking her head miserably. She was completely and utterly moved by his loyalty, but terrified over what he must be thinking. "He's never done anything wrong—"

"Really?" he asked mildly. "Sounds like he broke your heart to me."

Ginny's throat went dry. "No. No. You can't think that… he…he didn't do anything wrong, Bri," she insisted in a low voice. "He doesn't even… know… about any of this…so, please." She ended the sentence on a rather desperate note and then looked up at him.

The look in Brian's eyes as he stared at her made Ginny's heart sink. He knew. It really was rather simple, wasn't it?

"I see," he said quietly.

Ginny let her gaze fall to the ground again, wondering if she would ever not feel those twinges of shame. "Look… it's all over and I am so completely fine now, and … and so… bloody grateful to Harry. Because if I hadn't wanted to leave home, I would never have come here. And you would never have the pleasure of cleaning up my dirty socks if I hadn't," she joked, linking her arm through his, trying to lighten things up.

"Please, Bri," she pleaded in a low voice when he was still quite silent. "I don't think about him anymore. It doesn't… matter anymore."

"All right," he said at last. "I won't … punch his lights out."

Ginny's lips twitched in amusement. "Okay. Thank you," she said, managing to keep a straight face, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. "So, what's been happening at home? You know I've been avoiding you all day?"

"Yeah, I noticed. I killed the bird while you were at work. He was getting on my last nerve."

"Well, then I'll have to challenge you to a duel and kill _you_—"

"Come on, love, be serious. I'm bigger than you."

She heaved a sigh. "Obviously, you didn't know me in my childhood years. I was a force to be reckoned with."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah," she tossed at him. "I was taught by the best."

"Well, then, name the time and the place and I'll be there."

"All right." Ginny waited a beat. And then, feeling somewhat elated by their conversation and needing to bring things back to familiar ground, she grabbed her wand and whirled around, just as Brian yanked out his. They stood face to face, pointing their wands at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

"I'll give you the first one, love, go ahead," Brian offered.

Ginny was no fool. She tossed her hair back and opened her mouth to shout her curse, when Brian called out his first. In the knick of time, Ginny switched her spell to deflect his Tickling Charm.

"That was well done, I'll give you that," Brian commented casually, as if they were simply conversing and didn't have his wand pointed at Ginny's chest. Or have one pointed at his own.

"You cheat," she retorted, jerking her wand higher. "I shouldn't even continue with this duel on principle."

"Then bow out."

"Never."

The words that Ginny shouted next were so quick and her wand swish so practiced that Brian didn't have the time or the knowledge to deflect her spell. The jet of yellowish light hit him right where she'd aimed and Brian doubled over clasping one hand to his nose to stop the stream that suddenly burst from it.

Ginny couldn't stop laughing for the life of her. She clung to a nearby lamppost, holding her side as Brian managed to reverse the hex and clean it up. She was holding her breath, tears blurring her eyes, her wand hand shaking, but still raised slightly just in case.

"That… was the most childish thing you have ever done, Ginevra."

Ginny tried to respond, but all that came out was a high-pitched squeak-like sound. "You cheated," she managed finally. "You de-de-de-deserved it!"

Brian nodded, looking at her very intently. Ginny straightened and held her wand at the ready, her shoulders still trembling with laughter. "Well," he said abruptly, tucking his wand into the waistband of his jeans. "You won, then."

Ginny stared at him. "What?" she said, her voice still shaky from all the laughing. "What do you mean? You're not…"

"You won," Brian said simply.

"You never let me win."

"I will this time."

Ginny stared at him, grinning. "If you think you're going to get me later, when I least suspect it—"

"Now that's an idea," Brian said thoughtfully and Ginny let out a cry of outrage.

"You can't do that!"

"I can't?"

"No! It's not _fair_."

"I don't play fair," Brian said, grinning wickedly.

Ginny stood in amused fury with the urge to simply hex him again for the hell of it. But she let her arm drop to her side. "I hate you."

"Glad to hear it," he said, taking her arm and starting back down the path towards the flat.

"If you retaliate, the next time you have a woman in the flat, I'll cast my bat-bogey hex on _her_," she threatened as they stepped into the round courtyard and up the stone footpath to the building.

Brian sent her a sideways smile as he opened the door. "You started it, love. It's about to get good…and you won't even know when it's coming."

Huffing out a breath, Ginny followed him inside.

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Chapter Seven


	8. Chapter Seven

Title: "Seeking Ginny"

Author: Casca

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Through Goblet

Classification: Post-Hogwarts H/G

Summary: Ginny Weasley has tried for years to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: When I imagine life after Hogwarts for the Weasley family, I rarely, if ever, picture Percy in the fold. From early on, I always felt strongly that he would be a victim of the war and I never felt quite right about writing him into post-Hogwarts fanfiction. For the sake of this story, I'd just have you assume that he died in the war. I'm not sure if it will come up in the fic later on. I don't have anything planned on that as of yet which could change, but in case it doesn't, I'd just like to settle any curiosity that may arise on the matter.

**A/N: This chapter has been revised as of December 2005**

Chapter Seven

There had been no order to the mess that Ginny called a life for weeks. What with all the packing that went into moving, the hassle to finish major assignments, the last-minute cramming for exams, the big leaving ceremonies at l'Academie, and her last day at work, the truth of actually leaving Paris for good had barely begun to sink in. Every so often she would pause while packing and look around the flat miserably. Her eyes would roam over the boxes that were stacked and scattered throughout the room, over the bare walls with nothing but shadows where paintings and mirrors had once hung, over the space where the sofa, chairs, and bed had been. Maurice, not knowing what was going on, would be flying confusedly from his perch near the window into Ginny's empty bedroom and back again while Brian would frantically pack towels into a carton as if his life depended on it. And there she would stand, bewildered as to how fast the day was approaching.

They were in the midst of packing up what was left of the living room when Ginny froze. She looked at Brian who was trying to pack Maurice's perch without getting bitten by the bird and the two of them seemed to be moving in slow motion. _This can't be it_, she thought desperately. There had to be more time. It must be a mistake… they still had one more year left…right?

She sighed and walked wearily to the sideboard, the only thing in the living room left to pack. All of the furniture had already been taken by the Magical Moving Troupe early that morning. The stacks of boxes that remained would be picked up in a few hours, filled with their clothing and some necessities they had left out during the week of packing. The drawer of the sideboard was a complete mess, full of old photographs and empty inkbottles, a quill or two and Brian's little black book of names and addresses. She took it out and tossed it to him, watched a nostalgic look come into his eyes as he began flipping through and Ginny took a moment to study a photograph, feeling rather nostalgic herself.

It was one of Ginny and Aurelie; they were seated at the bar, legs crossed, heads tilted and wide grins on their faces. That had been….her first year in Lacasse, Ginny realized, noting the straight hair that swung at her chin—the hairstyle she'd had done after her first few months of working.

Ginny absentmindedly lifted a hand to her hair, now back to its usual longish, wavy length. Images began to come back to her as if her mind was flipping through photograph after photograph of the past five years. Haircuts and work shifts… lessons and professors… friends … parties… books she'd read… plays she'd seen… family who'd visited…five years…five _years_.

Term had officially ended one week ago, leaving Ginny and Brian seven days to pack those five years into boxes. It hadn't been easy. Ginny hadn't wanted to spend her last week in Paris inside the flat packing; she'd wanted to visit all of her favorite places one last time. She wanted to see all of her friends and try to say goodbye to every single one of them. Though she'd been thinking about it for the last few months, leaving had caught up to her and after watching the Troupe members carry her childhood bed out of her room to be brought back to her old bedroom at the Burrow….

She'd finally realized what this truly meant. A chapter in her life was closing. This life, here in Paris, would eventually become just a memory.

"What are you doing?" Brian exclaimed and Ginny jumped. "The Troupe will be back at five, it's—BUGGER, GINNY!" He swore again, louder and cruder. "Look at the time!"

She looked. It read quarter to four. Something heavy fell into the pit of her stomach. There was just over an hour to finish packing and they still had what was left of the kitchen.

"I know, I know," she cried, scooping up the photographs, using her wand to seal them and fitting them into her box. She made a mental note to put them into a great album when she got home. "Come on, we can do this."

And so, like all the other times she'd sat in despair this past week, Ginny became instantly numb to the fact that she was going to be leaving Paris for good—_tomorrow_—and forced herself to be busy. Busy was the key. Being busy made her not think that this was the very last night she would ever spend in her flat.

After the box was finally full, Ginny grabbed the roll of industrial spellotape to close it. She had a brief glimpse of Brian, Aurelie, Christian and herself grinning up at her in the photograph before shutting the flaps of the box. She had tears in her eyes as she pulled the tape over the slit and Brian gave her shoulder a squeeze as he passed to his bedroom.

Six o'clock came quickly. They had only just managed to shove the last of the kitchen things into a box and yank the spellotape over it when there was a swift knock on the door. Ginny retreated into her bedroom while the Troupe, a group of wizards in gray uniforms and caps, legally shrunk the boxes and tossed them into a sack. She lit the one candle that she'd kept out because the sun was beginning to set and looked around at the empty room. There was her handbag on the floor and the blanket she was going to use to sleep on tonight, along with two sets of clothes—one outfit for tonight's going-away party at the café and one for the Apparition trip tomorrow. She grabbed the skirt and sweater she'd left out for tonight and walked into the other room.

"Where are the towels you left out?" she asked Brian who was staring around the room, his brow furrowed in confusion. He looked as though he was having the same realization that Ginny had been faced with earlier.

"Huh?" he asked, finally.

"Where are the towels you left out – I need to take a shower before we leave."

"Towels?"

"Yes, Brian, the towels," she said patiently. "You packed them, remember? What did you do with the two I told you to keep out?"

He looked around again. "Uh….."

"Right, did you pack them?"

"Yeah," he exclaimed. "Why didn't you remind me?"

"I did. Five-hundred times."

"Well, just use magic, what's the difference?"

The difference was having a soft, fuzzy towel to wrap around herself after the last shower she would ever take in her flat, but Ginny didn't expect him to understand that. "No difference," she sighed and grabbed her wand from the sideboard.

An hour later, they stepped out.

"You're very … yellow tonight," Brian commented.

Ginny looked down at her clothes as they came to the landing and pushed open the door. "I'm trying to brighten my mood by wearing a bright outfit," she said over her shoulder.

"Is it working?"

"Not a bit."

Brian sent her a smile as they turned down the cobblestone street. "Just think… after tonight, the next party you'll go to will be at your house."

Ginny tried to focus on that, but it didn't help that every building they passed… every shop and restaurant made her want to weep. She gave a small wave to the flower seller who had always had a bit of a crush on her and heaved a sigh.

"Little does he know," Brian said in an amused voice. "That you're walking out of his life forever."

"You are not making me feel better."

"Oh, come on, will you? It's our last night in Paris! We have to make it memorable!"

"You can make it memorable, I'd like to just go to bed and wake up after I'm home; that way I'll have already said goodbye to everyone and… "

"That's a great attitude to have when you're walking to a party being thrown in your honor."

Ginny sighed again. Aurelie had refused to tell her one detail about the party, only that she was not to arrive early and Ginny had agreed, although she secretly wished that her friend hadn't insisted on it.

As she walked along the pathway, her mind wandered to her last going away party, the one her parents had thrown for her before leaving five years ago. It had been quite awful. She'd been so worried that she was making a huge mistake but too ashamed to admit it to anyone as they all surrounded her, laughing and drinking and wishing her well. She expected tonight would be much of the same although she knew that going back wasn't a mistake. It was just a bit terrifying.

"I'm awful," Ginny admitted to Brian in a low voice. "Aurelie has been so excited about this all week, but I wish we didn't have to go. I just don't feel like pretending that we're having a good time and not dreading the end when we have to all say goodbye—"

"Ginny, it's not goodbye, you'll see them again—"

She shook her head impatiently. Why didn't he understand what this truly meant? "It won't be the same, Brian, you have to know that it won't. We're going to get real jobs and we won't come back as often as we say we will."

"Of course it's not going to be the same. But _that's _why I plan to make this night unforgettable." He spread his arms out, threw back his head and yelled in French, "Paris! Tonight will be our last love affair together. Let's make it a good one!"

"You're mad," Ginny said, but he did manage to make her smile.

When they approached the café, however, there was no loud music to be heard. There were no bright lights coming from the windows or the hum of chatter from crowds of people. She looked at Brian quickly before they made their way up the path and through the doors. Her brows lifted.

The crowds of people from University that Ginny had been expecting were not there. In fact the only person in the room was Christian, behind the bar, of course, and mixing a bubbling cauldron. There were no streamers or party crackers or balloons or fairy lights. There was just one big, round table in the middle of the floor, finely set for four people with tons of waxy candles and bottles of wine.

Ginny took it all in and breathed a grateful sigh. She looked at Christian who was smiling at her. "She's going to be very angry that you're here before it's all finished."

"It's not finished?" Ginny asked and was left with a moment of disappointment that perhaps she was getting the wrong impression after all, when on cue, Aurelie walked out of the kitchens and stopped short when she saw Ginny and Brian.

"You're early!"

But Ginny didn't pay any attention to that – her focus was on the vase of flowers that Aurelie was holding, overflowing with gerbera daisies.

"I love gerbera daisies," she said.

"I know," said Aurelie, not meeting her eyes and placing the vase in the center of the table. Then she looked up and she and Ginny stared at each other. At that moment, Ginny missed her friend so much it was as though there were miles and miles between them instead of just a few feet.

"Right," Brian said after a few seconds, breaking the silence. "No crying until after the party. So when does it start?"

"It just did," Aurelie said. "I didn't think you lot would be up to a big bash, so I thought a quiet dinner with just us?"

It was… perfect, Ginny thought to herself and had to pause before speaking so that she didn't start crying. "That's perfect."

"Okay," Aurelie said, turning slightly businesslike and peering around. "Coconut Concoction almost ready?" Ginny made a noise of delight and clapped her hands together.

"And Pierre's just about done with the food," Aurelie muttered. She winked at Ginny. "You'll never guess."

"Lobster bisque…?" Ginny asked faintly, and when Aurelie nodded, Ginny pressed a hand to her heart. Pierre only made it for special occasions.

"Among other things, but yes," Aurelie said mysteriously.

Ginny merely stood with her palm pressed against her heart, a bittersweet feeling spreading through her because she was actually starting to look forward to tonight's dinner - her last in Paris. Brian was looking at her with a smirk.

"It doesn't take much to make you happy, does it?" he asked, switching to English and pulling out a chair for her.

"No," she sighed, sitting down. Aurelie had even dragged the old cushioned chairs that they used for banquets out from the storage room. Ginny looked apologetically at Brian. "I know this isn't exactly what you had in mind for tonight."

"Eh, it's all right," he said, sitting down next to her. "I have a date later anyway."

Ginny shook her head on a laugh. At least some things would never change.

The evening became memorable at once when Pierre himself walked out of the kitchen to serve. Ginny stared at him like he'd grown an extra nose as he ladled the bisque into her bowl. Never, in all her years of knowing Pierre, had the chef left the kitchen—ever—for anything at all.

Dinner was a bit quiet. Ginny and Brian told Christian and Aurelie about their last lessons and exams and the leaving ceremonies at l'Academie. They ate more food than was proper and when Pierre brought out desert, Aurelie pulled a big box from under her chair and handed it to Ginny.

"A little present."

Ginny grinned wistfully and lifted the top to reveal a handsome book… a photograph album.

"Oh, this is excellent, I found all sorts of photographs today," she exclaimed. "I can put them in—" she broke off when she opened the book and gasped. "Oh! Oh, wow, you've got some in here! Oh…" she grinned, flipping through, noting that almost three quarters of the book was filled with photographs and other little things like receipts and letters and menus and brochures from places all around the city. There were even some of Christian's famous recipes, although they had to be unlocked with a charm, she noticed and sent him a grin. "Oh, oh, I do love this. It's everything! You've got everything in here!"

Aurelie grinned. "I also left some spaces so you can add stuff," she explained. "I stole things from your bedroom and went through your handbag a couple of times this week."

Ginny laughed. "I didn't even notice."

"Hey, look," Brian said, stopping Ginny on a page in the middle. "Halloween… last year, was it?"

"The year before," Ginny said, still flipping through. "Oh, no!" she cried, laughing at another photograph. "I can't believe you kept that one, I look terrible!"

"I look great in that one, I had to keep it," Aurelie said, leaning over. "Turn to the second or third page, there was a really funny one of the Maquine sisters from the night we saw them in that pub…."

They spent the next few hours passing the album back and forth around the table, drinking and eating. Every photograph was a story to tell and they spent hours and hours reliving old times. It turned out that Christian had saved all of the letters Aurelie had ever written to say she would be late to work and Ginny held her side laughing when she saw that every scrap of parchment put together totaled almost ten pages.

"I know how much it costs you to give them to me," Ginny giggled, looking at Christian. "I mean it's your proof what an awful cow she is."

"He would never use them against me," Aurelie argued. "Because you love me, right?" she teased, grinning at Christian who lifted an amused brow and sipped his Guinness.

"No comment," he said after a moment and they all laughed.

As much as Ginny wanted time to stop right then, it ticked on and after a while, when the candles had reached their stubby ends and the excited laughing and talking had begun to slowly drift into lazy conversations, Ginny found herself leaning back in her chair flipping slowly through the album on her own and listening with half an ear to Aurelie and Brian talk about the one and only date they'd ever had.

"I can't believe I set that up for you," Ginny muttered, although she was sure they didn't hear her – they were too busy bickering over what had ended the evening—Aurelie's ego or Brian's "your place or mine" query.

Ginny turned to the next page and found a photograph taken at the café a few years ago of about ten people. They were posing and grinning at the camera, all huddled together to fit in the shot. Ginny's eyes wandered slowly over the faces, landing on Aurelie who had wrapped her arms playfully around Christian's waist and was snuggling against him. It wasn't odd, that; there wasn't a photograph in the album where Aurelie wasn't touching someone in some fashion or other; it was just her personality. But Ginny found herself looking closely at the two of them. Aurelie had a wide grin plastered across her face and looked no different than usual and Christian had tilted his head close to hers, smiling.

As Ginny peered closely, she noticed the look on Christian's face… there was something rather familiar behind the eyes that kept falling down to gaze at the blonde head… and the frozen, rather tense smile that appeared on his face whenever Aurelie laughed. Ginny turned her focus to another snapshot, one with only Aurelie and Christian, behind the bar. There was nothing out of the ordinary there, Ginny thought, and was about to look back at the group one again to make sure, when in the second photograph, Christian ever so slightly darted his eyes to the left—where Aurelie was standing. Ginny flipped the pages again, stopping at another which featured the two of them and in this one, it was next to obvious: Aurelie was propped on the bar for an individual shot that Ginny remembered taking herself… and Christian was in the background, his eyes steady on the back of the blonde's head as he wiped a goblet.

"I mean, you just assumed that I would follow you back to your flat, not even bothering to try and get to know me at all—"

"As if you didn't do anything during dinner to warrant it," Brian said on a crack of laughter that had Aurelie huffing.

"Like _what_?"

"Well… for one, that dress."

"What was wrong with it!" she shrieked. "It was a perfectly suitable dress."

"Yeah, for a veela," Brian said dryly, tipping his Guinness back and taking a swallow.

"Shut up!" Aurelie exclaimed, laughing.

Ginny dragged her focus from the book and looked up at Christian, but saw that his attention was on the stem of his goblet.

"I can't believe it's nearly two o'clock," Aurelie exclaimed, glancing at her sleek silver watch. "Time flew, didn't it?

"Yes it did," muttered Brian glancing at his own watch.

"I wonder if your date will have waited," Aurelie grinned slyly, cupping her chin on her hands and grinning saucily.

"Oh, she's counting the minutes," Brian assured her.

Aurelie sighed. "If you didn't insist on being so in love with yourself, Brian McGuire, you'd be going home with me tonight."

Ginny's eyes flew to Christian, who had stood from the table and was carefully piling goblets onto a tray, his eyes focusing unwaveringly on his task. She recognized that carefully concentrated task and concealed expression – looking at Christian was like seeing herself … she was eighteen years old and trying to ignore Harry and Rebecca.

"Oh, leave it, Christian, I'll clean it all when I come in tomorrow," Aurelie said, pushing her chair back and standing.

"You'll be late," he said, sending her a sideways look.

"I won't, I promise," she grinned, sending him a wink.

Because of the sudden realization over Christian, there was already a heavy feeling in Ginny's heart as she stood, but when she looked at Aurelie, her insides twisted nervously. This was it. There was nothing left to do but say goodbye.

Ginny watched Brian wrap his arms around Aurelie and tell her in a surprisingly serious voice to take care of herself.

"You'd better write," said a voice in Ginny's ear and she turned to Christian, grinning.

"I promise, I will," she said, reaching up on her toes to hug him.

_Tell her._

The words wanted to tumble out of Ginny. She wanted to plead with Christian that if he had feelings for Aurelie, he should tell her… that it would be so much more difficult to get over if he didn't. But she couldn't. She just couldn't. Instead, she smiled up at him when they pulled apart.

And then it was time to say goodbye to Aurelie. The two held each other tightly for a very long minute before finally letting go. They muttered that they would write several times a week and before Ginny knew it, she was stepping out of the café and walking down Bertrand Street for the very last time.

She'd sent Brian off to his date, insisting that she would be fine to walk home alone, that it was almost daybreak after all. The truth of it was Ginny wanted to make the journey home alone. She knew that she would be too nervous to sleep once she got back, so she took the walk slowly, looking at everything as if she would never see it again. She wanted to memorize it – not the way it looked in particular because she was carrying a book filled with photographs of most of the places—but the way it felt to be here. She knew that would be lost very soon and she was desperate to keep it with her.

After a short walk, she found herself heading straight for her bridge. Her bridge made her the most sad. It was like saying goodbye to a friend. She leaned her arms on the stone wall and peered out and below, her thoughts traveling to the day she'd found this place and everything she'd thought about there over the years.

So many of those thoughts had been of Harry.

Water splashed against the pillars way below. Ginny abandoned Harry in her mind and began to daydream that the splashing was Merpeople come to bid her farewell. Then she rolled her eyes at herself.

Her eyelids were drooping. She was daydreaming about Merpeople. It was time to sleep.

She made her way wearily back to her building and trudged up the stairs slowly.

_'It's the last time I walk up these stairs,' _she thought, but she was too tired to feel sad.

She blinked when she stepped inside – it was very dark, with candles lit and at once, Ginny was wide awake, her mind snapping to the realization that she was sure she hadn't left any candles alight. Her entire body froze at a noise in the other room.

_My last night here, and I'm about to get murdered_, was her mad thought before Brian came through the bathroom door.

Ginny called him something that would make her brother Ron blush.

"Bloody hell," Brian muttered, walking to the middle of the room and sitting down on the floor, propping himself against the wall, and picking up a book. "I should wash that mouth out with soap, young lady."

"You scared me, I thought you were out."

"I was."

"Well, what happened?" she asked, setting her handbag and the photograph album aside and carefully sitting down on the floor.

He shrugged. "Wanted to come home. Last night and all that."

Ginny smiled. "Yeah…" She looked around at the empty flat, at the quivering shadows cast by the candles.

"Did you enjoy your party?" he asked, lowering the book slightly.

"Oh… yeah… it was great, wasn't it?" She thought of Christian and Aurelie suddenly. "Hey, Bri," she started to ask him, but stopped herself. She shouldn't talk about that, she realized. It wasn't her place to tell anyone about that.

"What?" he asked after a minute.

"Erm… where's that blanket? I have to sleep on something."

"I put it in your room. You can have it."

"Thanks," she said, standing. She took a candle and went into her room, but as she started to arrange herself on the floor, she realized that she didn't want to be alone in the huge empty room that was once her bedroom. She stood again, and dragged the blanket into the living room.

"Will you be up reading for a while?"

Brian nodded. He'd switched from the book to a local newspaper. "I'm not sleeping. We only have a few hours, not worth it."

She nodded. "Well, I'm sleeping in here, if you don't mind," she said as she spread the blanket out and sank down, folding up a sweater to use as pillow. "This is uncomfortable," she said after trying to find the right angle on which to lie.

"You should just stay up."

She sighed, "I can't," and tossed some more.

"Are you going to be doing that all night?" he demanded mildly.

"So what? You're not trying to sleep or anything."

He sighed again and there was silence as he continued to read and Ginny lay flat on her back, trying to see if it was comfortable enough. She quickly decided it wasn't and turned onto her stomach.

"Your friend is in here," Brian said.

"What?" she managed, yanking her shirt out from where it was pulling against her from rolling over.

"Harry Potter."

"Oh?" she said, pausing.

"Yeah…he left Paris on 'more important business.' The article is speculating why he was even here at such a pointless gig when most of his jobs hold the highest level of importance normally."

"Hmm," said Ginny, rolling onto her left side now. "I don't know, he really didn't talk too much about why he was here—that convention and lots of meetings was all he said about it. Anyway, I knew he'd gone. Mum told me in her last letter."

Brian nodded and turned his page.

Ginny gave up and crawled into her bedroom for her wand, to use it on the blanket to make it softer.

"Dunno why you didn't just do that in the first place," Brian muttered and Ginny threw him a dirty look before settling down on the much-improved blanket.

"I thought I could rough it for one night," she snuggled into the blanket but exhausted as she was, she just couldn't fall asleep.

"That photograph album was such a wonderful gift," she said on a yawn. "I'm going to add all my things to it once I get home. I'll have lots of time on my hands with no job or anything."

"You'll get a job," Brian assured her automatically.

"It's okay if I don't," she said seriously. "I'll just be a farmer. I've always wanted to have a farm."

"Are you sure there wasn't any Firewhisky in your drink tonight?"

She giggled. "Yes. I'm like this naturally, didn't you know?"

She heard him chuckle. "Hey, you know what I was thinking about before? Our first Christmas in the flat."

Ginny made a happy noise in her throat. "Oh, yes…remember my gingerbread cookies?"

"I'd rather not. Remember my tree?"

"Remember the carols I charmed to play whenever someone knocked at the door?"

"Remember when the spell backfired and the carols never stopped?"

"I remember I was scared of you for the first time when that happened," she muttered on a laugh, which turned into a yawn.

They went on with the 'remember when's' for a while until Ginny felt her eyelids drooping and, more than a little reluctantly, she gave in to sleep.

_Five Years Earlier_

It was a Friday evening. The summer was drawing to a close and the aura at the pub in Hogsmeade was that of relaxation mixed with lazy anticipation for the weekend that stretched out ahead. Kids packed the tables in the back while the bar was studded with witches and wizards sipping their drinks, engaging in laughing conversations and simply having a good time. It had been quite a while since these walls had sustained such a relaxed attitude from their occupants within and the customers themselves knew what a privilege it was simply to be there.

Ginny sat in the midst of it, having been laughing herself with a small group of her friends, who had just gone off to the witches loo together. Ginny had opted to stay put. She didn't feel much like hearing the tales that were no doubt going to come up within the cubicles of the loo. New boyfriends and potential boyfriends and old boyfriends coming back to complicate matters weren't the sort of things that she felt like listening to, much less searching for words to comment on. She was trying too hard to disguise the anxiety that was taking place in her abdomen right now.

"Refill?" asked the barmaid, giving her a warm smile.

Ginny returned it. "No, thanks… still working on this."

"Just holler when you do," Rosmerta said, giving her a wink and Ginny smiled back. She sat there quietly, surveying the room for a while, before turning her unsettled attention on the surface of the bar, where she began drawing circles with her forefinger in the small puddle of spilt butterbeer.

"Having fun?"

Ginny turned in surprise at the voice that cut through her thought trail. Harry had appeared next to her and was bent over the bar, leaning his arms on the surface, his head tilted in her direction. Ginny took in the wide grin that was plastered across his face, the pink color that was tainting his cheeks and the brightness in his green eyes. A glance downward had her spotting the bottle in his hand, a bottle that she was willing to bet contained something much stronger than butterbeer.

Normally, she would have felt the urge to laugh—she'd seen Harry pissed before and if he reacted to the alcohol in the same fashion as last time, he'd be falling asleep on his feet very shortly.

His sleepy drunkenness was usually the sort of thing that made him endearing to her… but not now. Now, a strangled sense of anger clouded her vision and made her want to turn her head from him. Or walk away.

But she forced a smile. "Of course."

Harry nodded and cast his head down, studying his bottle, the sarcasm in her voice seemingly lost on him. After a moment of contemplation, he lifted his drink and sent Ginny a sideways glance. "I have no idea what this is. George offered it and I took it. D'you think that was a mistake?" There was a bit of humor that touched the surface of his eyes, but there were other things in the green depths… other, much deeper emotions that usually only shone in brief flashes when his control was not in check. He was being haunted tonight, Ginny decided as she studied his eyes boldly, by the demons that never left him alone.

_Hurting, Harry? _She found herself thinking nastily, turning her head, and resenting him. She would be drawn to him when his eyes looked like that for the rest of her life, whether she spent five years in Paris or twenty.

"Where's Rebecca?"

Harry glanced around the room. "I'm not sure," he said after a minute.

Ginny made a noise in her throat. A dozen responses rose in her mind, each more biting than the next.

_Easy, Ginny_.

She drew a deep breath. "Lost her already, have you?" she asked lightly, after a moment.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Yeah… she wants me to dance… and I'm pissed enough to do it, I think."

Ginny's shoulders jerked. "Well, if you avoid her a little while longer, you'll be asleep, so try that," she said, veiling her sarcasm once again and patting his forearm. An electric current shot from her fingertips, up her arm and straight to her heart. Suddenly numb, she drew her hand away and turned her barstool so that she was facing the crowded floor, twirling her butterbeer in her hands. Her eyes wandered the crowd, searching for one of her friends so that she could excuse herself.

But Harry was laughing. "Are you trying to tell me… Ginny…" he was having difficulty thinking of the words, "that I can't… hold my liquor?"

She looked at him and in a brief moment could tell that he was trying very hard not to wallow in whatever was making him grieve. He wanted to laugh. He was trying. Ginny felt the corners of her mouth tug. How was it that he could melt her resentment in a heartbeat? "No, Harry," she said, allowing her lips to turn up. "Not at all."

"Good, because I can, you know," he said on a yawn.

"Where's Ron?" she asked him, giving in to the little twinges in her heart as he set his elbow on the bar and propped his chin on his hand, his glasses becoming slightly askew. His eyes were slowly glazing over as they surveyed the stacks of goblets and glasses against the mirrored backing of the bar. In answer to her query, he lazily tilted his head in the direction of a group of people and Ginny's gaze followed his gesture. Ron was among the group of dancing people, as was Hermione. Ginny watched Hermione laugh as Ron held her close and danced sloppily, whispering something in her ear.

Ginny's smile faded slowly as she looked back at Harry, who was now fighting with his drooping eyelids. From absolutely nowhere, tears sprang into her eyes.

"Hey, you two!" the distinct, throaty voice of Rebecca Stephens said laughingly. She linked her arm through Harry's as he sat up straighter and smiled sleepily at the brunette. "What are we drinking?" she asked, looking from Ginny's bottle to Harry's.

"Just butterbeer for me," Ginny said ducking her head and thanking the heavens that the place was dark. She hopped off her stool, blinking, a dull pressure rising in her chest. "But keep an eye on him," she said lightly to Rebecca.

"Oh, I will," Rebecca said, pulling Harry's bottle towards her and sniffing it.

"Hey," Harry said, then called something to Ginny that sounded like a playful 'thanks', but the only thing Ginny could hear was the roaring in her head. Sliding silently through the crowd, she made it to the bathroom and, praying that it had been vacated of her friends, pushed the swinging door open. To her immense luck, the few people inside were complete strangers; she went through a cubicle, locked the door and took a deep breath.

He was going to marry her.

She squeezed her eyes against the tears.

He was going to marry Rebecca.

She chanted the words over and over again, like a mantra in her head. She knew if she said it enough, she could force herself to believe it and therefore be okay when it actually happened. Because it would happen. There was nothing for it – she, Ginny, was giving up.

Not that she would have ever had him. Oh, no, she knew _that_. But if she did this, if she left tomorrow, it would be the end; there would be no thinking that there might be a chance later, down the road. This was it. She was giving up. Giving _him _up.

Tomorrow, it ended. Well, not for her, of course. Ginny was no fool. She knew she would never _really_ get over Harry. This feeling, right here, would never go away—it couldn't. It was too much a part of her, it was too big… so much bigger than her. There wasn't anything that she could do to end it, but perhaps, with time, it wouldn't be so bad. She could hide it, and maybe even… maybe even find someone else and then Harry would be something that she would just… regret. Just regret. And he wouldn't cause all of this shame and humiliation and hurt in her life … and she wouldn't be forced to think about him because there would be someone she could love who actually _loved her._

Desire hit her so quickly and went so deep; Ginny winced, and then hung her head in shame. She felt pain on her palms and she looked down to realize that she'd curled her fingers into such tight fists that her knuckles were white and her nails dug into her flesh….

Would she ever, _ever _stop wanting Harry to love her?

"…Ginny… Gin!"

"What?" she demanded, and then opened her eyes. She was standing up, leaning against a pillar and… sleeping. She blinked twice. "I fell asleep."

"Really?" Brian said sarcastically. "Come on, we only have a little more time left, look—"

Ginny looked… and her heart nearly sang. She could actually see it… the front of the queue. There were about twenty people between herself and a long row of desks where Ministry officials stood inspecting traveling papers and travelers themselves. Standing on tip-toe, Ginny watched a tall wizard clad in purple robes being searched by the officials before passing through the huge door behind them. Ginny saw a glimpse of light as the door closed behind the man and a little jolt of excitement raced through her. Bill was standing behind that door.

They had arrived at England's Apparition station about fourteen hours ago. Ginny had to admit that it was much more difficult standing here in England's queue than it had been in France because of the fact that she was technically home already and it seemed pointless to be standing in a queue to Apparate such a short distance from here. It had been over a day since they'd left Paris, having spent fifteen hours in France's station, and now just under fourteen hours in England's. They had made rather great timing according to some seasoned travelers they'd met who said that the last time they'd traveled from France, it had taken them nearly three days.

Ginny heaved a sigh and hooked her arm around the pillar that she happened to be standing next to and leaned her head against the cool surface of it. She thought of her farewell party at the café, which seemed like a lifetime ago already.

"… don't bloody believe this! I should have taken those Muggle airplanes, I should have!"

"Shut up, Earl, you know the Ministry doesn't look kindly on that—"

"Bugger the Ministry, I've been standing in a bloody queue for TWO DAYS!"

Over the bickering couple behind them, Ginny exchanged weary smiles with Brian before closing her eyes again and listening with half an ear to Earl and his wife. She gathered that they had arrived from outside of Europe so it had taken them much longer to get to this point of the line than Ginny and Brian. Ginny continued to listen until Brian nudged her when the queue began to move and she looked fondly at the pillar she had to leave behind – she'd been so lucky to have it beside her.

Ginny didn't have to wait very long without the column, however. Whether it was her mild interest in the bickering couple (they reminded her distinctly of a bickering couple she knew very well who were waiting for her at home) or the fact that she could actually count down the number of people ahead of her, but the time seemed to be going very fast and before long, a very short hour had passed and Ginny found herself standing at one of the desks, scrambling to hand over her traveling papers. She sent Brian an uneasy look as a wizard began to perform some complicated searching spells on her, but he was busy raising a brow at the official who was approaching him.

"Okay! Go!"

Ginny's eyes widened as the man abruptly stopped his search and waved an arm at her.

"What?" she cried, thinking she'd done something wrong. She glanced to where Brian was being searched but found herself looking at somebody else.

"Don't just stand there, go on, do you know how long the line is, lady?"

Ginny quickly noted some of the people standing in the queue looking at her impatiently. "Oh, you mean, I'm done! I can go?"

The wizard lifted a brow at her and Ginny didn't wait for a response. She grabbed her handbag from the table where they'd searched it and pushed through the door.

Fresh air was suddenly upon her and bright, beautiful sunlight. She took a deep breath and adjusted her eyes to the vivid colors. It was a huge courtyard with tall trees casting speckled shadows over the elegant stoned patio and smooth, round patches of bright green grass surrounded by a thin edging of flowers. There were people all around her, hugging and greeting the travelers, and Ginny listened with a bit of a thrill as they spoke her own language. She hadn't been outside in more hours than she wanted to count and the light summer breeze was incredibly refreshing to her sleep-deprived body.

Ginny started walking slowly, looking all around for a familiar face. She spotted Brian a short distance away, standing with his mum and Ginny stood on tip-toes again, trying to see over the heads of a huge crowd that was assembling in front of her. Sure enough, after a few seconds of searching, she spotted the bright red hair a distance away and it was all she could do not to push people over to try and get to him. As she neared, however, and started to call out his name, she saw that it wasn't Bill.

"Your favorite brother couldn't make it," Ron called dryly, his mouth twisting into a sarcastic smirk. "So I came instead."

A grin spread wide across Ginny's face and she couldn't help herself. She threw her arms around him.

"You get shorter every time I see you," Ron said after a few seconds, pushing her away and messing her hair.

"That's nice," Ginny said, grinning and realizing how much she'd missed being insulted by him. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Not too long," he said, taking the bag she shoved at him. "Dad kept getting updated times from somebody at the office, so it all worked out. Bill had to work, that's why he's not here, but he's probably home by now anyway and Charlie is at home helping Emma with the kids and Fred and George had to work, but they should be home by now, too. Mum's cooking a huge dinner and Dad is—well, he's setting up your surprise."

"My surprise?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Yeah," Ron said, shaking his head in annoyance. "He's been bloody manic about it for months—pieces of it all over the damn place – Julian was playing with them the other day and nearly cut his hand off. Charlie had to come home from work to take him to St. Mungo's just in case—"

"Oh, no," Ginny moaned on a laugh, burying her face in her hands.

"But not to worry!" Ron said in an irritated voice. "The bloody thing is all put together now and… well, you'll see," Ron grinned deviously.

Ginny tried to think what it could possibly be. "You have to tell me."

"Ginny, Mum would disown me. The family would break up."

"Would not," she laughed and pulled his sleeve. "Come on, you haven't met Brian, have you?"

The first thing that met Ginny when she materialized at the Burrow was the very distinct smell. It was a mixture of spices and burning firewood and Madam Lola's Floor Cleaner and something unrecognizable. But it was the same scent that had greeted her every summer when she came home from Hogwarts and it was the most wonderful scent in the world.

The next thing that greeted her was a five-year old Charlie running towards her at full speed.

"Julian!" Ginny cried happily, crouching down and holding out her arms. But instead of receiving a hug, her nephew thrust two chubby palms into her abdomen and pushed hard. Ginny toppled sideways, her weight falling on one knee and she slapped her own palm against the floor to stop herself from tumbling over.

"JULIAN!" roared both Charlie and his wife Emma as the boy continued to run past Ginny as if she'd only been a mere obstacle in his path. She heard Julian's small footsteps on the stairs behind her followed by several unmistakable adult ones thudding after him.

"Taken down by a five-year old!" laughed another voice.

"It's good a thing she's home, George, she's been without our influence for far too long."

"Not long enough," Ginny commented, still getting over having been pushed to the ground in the first seconds of her return. But she couldn't help grinning as she gripped the back of a kitchen chair to pull herself up. "Don't help me or anything, I'll be all right."

"Don't worry, Gin, you were here before Julian, he has nothing on you," said Fred.

"He takes after us," George grinned.

"I see that," Ginny said, flinching as huge crashing sounds came from upstairs.

"Just like you did, oh, so long ago," Fred tutted.

"But now you're out of practice, we'll have to give you a crash course."

"Later," she said, holding up a hand as identical grins sprung up on their faces. "Right now, I'm just too tired. Where's—"

"Have a nice Apparition, then?" It was a voice from behind and Ginny whirled around to see Bill grinning at her. Something about seeing her oldest brother, the brother she'd looked up to her entire life made her want to cry. "Sorry I couldn't make it to pick you up," he said, and then grunted when she threw her arms around him.

"We didn't get a hug like that," she heard Fred tell George disdainfully.

"That's all right, Ron was there," Ginny told Bill. "It didn't take as long as I thought it would, Apparating."

"You must have been lucky, they say the times have become even worse lately."

"Really." Ginny wasn't too interested in talking about Apparating since she'd just spent the entire day doing it. "Hey, were you upstairs?" she asked Bill. "Was Mum—"

"Is she here yet?" another familiar voice called from the staircase, this one female. It wasn't the voice she'd been waiting for, but it made Ginny's heart leap with excitement nonetheless.

"Hermione? I'm in here, where are you--?"

Hermione appeared in the doorway, grinning madly and nearly jumping up and down. "Hi, at last! Finally, you're home! Oh, you look so pretty! Oh, Ginny you've changed so much!"

"What, she wasn't pretty before she left, then?" George retorted rudely. Both Ginny and Hermione ignored him.

"Pretty?" laughed Ginny as she and Hermione embraced. "Hermione, I've been standing in a crowded Apparition station for—"

"I don't care, you look beautiful! Ron, doesn't she look beautiful?"

"Smashing."

"Hermione, shut up," Ginny laughed as Hermione gushed. They stood at arms length, grinning, and Ginny marveled at just how much she'd missed Hermione before it hit her like a ton of bricks—the engagement. She felt a thrill and it was all she could do not to lean in and tell Hermione she knew. But she couldn't – she wouldn't _dare, _because of Harry—

Her train of thought broke as Harry himself came into view. He was sitting at the kitchen table, having been there the entire time, smiling at Ginny nervously. It was as if he knew exactly what she'd been thinking.

"Long time no see, Harry," Ginny joked, trying to reassure him with a smile. He laughed a little.

"Yeah," he started to ask her something else, but she felt a little tap on her shoulder and Ginny turned to find herself face to face with her father.

"Dad," she cried, hugging him, and laughing when her feet left the floor. For some reason, tears welled behind her eyes.

"I've got a surprise for you," he whispered and she laughed.

"So I've heard."

"After dinner," he winked.

"So sorry, Gin," Charlie called breathlessly, thudding down the stairs and passing by her to get a drink. He looked like he'd just come home from a long day battling dragons, rather than having to deal with his son. "I've locked him in the attic with the ghoul, that'll teach him. Welcome home and all that."

"The attic? Oh, no, Charlie, go and get him, he was just glad to see me."

Charlie took a long sip from his bottle and wiped his mouth the back of his hand. "No, he wasn't, he's a bloody terror."

"Oh, now really," Ginny said, reaching over to give a very pregnant Emma a hug. "You can't do that—"

"He's not locked in the attic," Emma said, shooting Charlie a look. In physical appearance, Emma and Charlie made the most unusual couple. While Charlie was muscular and rough-looking, Emma was petite in body with a fresh, delicate-featured face and the most innocent eyes. Except when she didn't find her husband's jokes funny. "But he is being punished, honestly, he's a menace."

"He takes after us," George repeated with a huge grin.

"So you mean he'll never get a girlfriend, then?" Bill said casually.

George stood. "Say it again."

Though Ginny always loved to watch her brothers fight, there was one person who hadn't greeted her yet and she pushed through the crowded kitchen of loud, obnoxious boys (with the exception of Emma and Hermione, who were both protesting the fight, and her father who was trying to be stern, but failing miserably) and trotted upstairs. It was so familiar, turning and opening the door before she'd even stepped onto the landing.

The bedroom was so much smaller than her Paris one, but Ginny couldn't believe she'd survived being away from it for so long. Every time she'd come home for holiday, her furniture had been absent, but now her bed was where it always had been, against the far wall, her chest of drawers sat near the window and the mirror was hanged opposite it. And her mum was there, hastily smoothing the covers over the bed.

Molly straightened and Ginny felt a huge sense of home rush over her even before her she closed the distance between them and fell into her mother's arms.

As much as Ginny's freshly made bed caused a deep longing to climb under the covers and sleep until eternity, she was expected downstairs for a family dinner. Her mum told her that she had a little time before the meal was served, so Ginny freshened up a bit in the bathroom, made sure all of her possessions that had been marked "bedroom" had arrived safely, and tidied up some of the boxes. She didn't want to even think about the boxes she'd labeled "shed" which her mum said were currently piled inside the tiny shed with her father's collection of Muggle things and the old broomsticks. She outright refused to even tempt herself with a short nap before dinner so she began to unpack some of her clothes, but was stopped when her father shouted for her not to look in her closet until after dinner. It must be the surprise, she thought, grinning and looking at the closed closet door, which still had a Gryffindor tie wrapped around the knob in a bow. In order to stifle the temptation to look behind the door or even better, fall into bed, Ginny retreated downstairs where she and sat in the living room and chatted with everyone.

When dinner was about to be served, the family sat outside in the balmy summer evening. Dinners with the entire family had always been rowdy and confusing with five different conversations going on at once and tonight was no exception. Ron complained to Harry about the new member of his department at the Ministry, a small wizard who had a Healer's note to get him out of all the complicated work, therefore doubling Ron's. Fred and George talked joke shop, which Ginny had always loved hearing about, so she listened and laughed as they told her about some new products. Bill spent the better part of his dinner refusing to tell his mother the name of the new witch he was dating while Charlie was barely able to touch his meal at all in favor of chasing and trying to feed his overzealous son. It was a bit of an added chaos to the meal, having a toddler in the family. Julian didn't sit still at all, hopping off the bench and running around to various members of the family, switching laps and Ginny felt a small twinge of jealousy when she held out her arms to him and he shook his head wildly and flung his arms open to Hermione instead.

"He'll get used to you, don't worry," Emma assured Ginny. "Then you'll wish you were a stranger."

They both looked to see Julian fling himself from Hermione to Harry and proceeded to smash his hands in Harry's potatoes.

"See that, look how much he's missed you, Harry," Molly scolded lightly, her attention wavering from her interrogation of Bill. "No more going off for that long."

Ginny saw Fred and Ron exchange a quick look.

"Did you hear about the Puddlemere match yesterday?" George asked Harry, leaning over in his seat.

"Both of Harrington's legs were shattered," Fred put in. "Took the Healer all of ten minutes to fix, but Jameson won't let him back in the game for three weeks."

"Something about a retraining period," George added.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said foully, trying to pry Julian's hands from his plate. "They've got to get rid of Jameson, he'll wind up costing them the season, with his attitude."

"He's just jealous that Harrington's the new star player and he'll never get that sort of press, even as captain."

All the boys turned to Ginny in surprise.

"What? Hey, I kept up with my home teams," she said indignantly.

"We thought for sure you'd turn into a Quafflepuncher," said Bill, grinning, referring to the nickname of fans for France's team, the Quafflepunches.

"Never," Ginny shuddered. "Brian would have murdered me."

The table went oddly quiet. Molly, however, perked up at Brian's name being mentioned. "How is Brian, dear?"

"All right," Ginny said, looking round at her brothers, who were all exchanging rather pointed looks.

"When do we get to meet him?" Bill said casually. "Brian."

"Erm… soon, probably. Ron met him today and Charlie did a while ago."

"Yeah, I've met him," Charlie said rather coolly.

"Bit of an idiot, I thought," said Ron, taking a bite of chicken.

"What?" exclaimed Ginny. "How can you say that, you only got the chance to say hello before we all left!"

Ron shrugged, his mouth full. "Just a feeling."

"Oh, nonsense," Molly said. "Brian is a dear."

Ginny sighed. She knew the reason her brothers were skeptical of Brian and though she'd thought her speech about the two of them having absolutely no romantic involvement wouldn't be necessary until they'd actually met Brian, Ginny resigned herself to giving it now. She began, but her voice was droned out by another.

"THAT'S IT!" bellowed Charlie as a handful of potatoes flew across the table, narrowly missing Hermione's head. "INSIDE, JULIAN!"

"Now, now, Charlie," Arthur said in a soothing voice when Charlie plucked Julian from Harry's lap and the boy burst into dramatic sobs. "He's only being a child."

"He has to learn, Dad!"

"He'll be good, one more chance now," said Arthur and Ginny was reminded strongly of her own childhood; her father trying to smooth over anything they had done wrong, while their mother…. Ginny had to grin at Charlie in amazement. Who would have thought?

"He can't throw food and not suffer the consequences, Dad," Charlie said angrily, carrying the wailing Julian away into the house.

There was a short pause at the table before everyone broke into laughter and conversations started up again; this time the focus wasn't on Ginny, but how soft Charlie would end up being when he finally got Julian upstairs. Ginny sat quietly, listening to the laughing and stifling a yawn. She felt a tap on her shoulder and she turned to George, who was sitting next to her, grinning widely. "He takes after us."

Ginny looked at his wicked grin for a moment and, though she was exhausted from her long journey and could lay her head down on the table and fall asleep right there, she couldn't stop the burst of laughter.

After Charlie had given Julian a firm talking-to and put him to bed (at least that was Charlie's story) they all sat outside as the sun began to set and her brothers regaled Ginny with stories and prompted her to talk about her life in Paris. Though she loved talking about her friends and everything she'd done, she was beginning to hear her bed calling her name in a severely tempting way. There was a brief lull in the conversation and Ginny sat up a bit and was about to excuse herself when she saw Hermione nudge Ron in the ribs, causing him to go bright red, look around at everyone with wide eyes and say, "Oh."

"Ron has something he wants to say to everyone," Hermione said, biting her lip nervously.

Ginny's mother gasped ever so softly; Fred and George exchanged grins and leaned back in their chairs, crossing their ankles; Bill frowned, his eyes narrowed; and Harry tried to look curious. Ginny however, realized what was about to happen and she sat up even straighter.

"Er…" Ron said, glancing at Hermione.

"Beautifully put, Ron," said Fred.

Ron looked at Hermione and when her smile bloomed in encouragement, a slow grin appeared on his face. Ginny caught Harry looking at her and she realized that she had her own foolish grin plastered across her face. She wiped it away immediately and turned back to Ron, pretending to look interested.

It took Ron an age to say it. He fumbled. He turned even redder. Fred sighed lavishly and George lifted a brow at his watch. And then Ron just blurted it out, all in one breathless word: "we'regettingmarried."

And all was turmoil. Everyone burst into laughter and screams. Molly let out an excited cry and pulled both Ron and Hermione into an embrace. Arthur kissed Hermione on the cheek while Fred, George, Bill and Charlie tackled Ron to the ground. Harry sat on the bench, watching it all and laughing and Hermione turned to Ginny, who had stood and said, "Well?"

Ginny couldn't think of anything to say, her happiness was positively overflowing and she glanced at Harry who was watching her out of the corner of his eye. "I can't… I had no… I'm just… so SHOCKED!" Ginny finally shrieked, hugging Hermione as well. Ron's yelps could be heard coming from beneath the rest of her brothers as they rolled around on the grass in one big heap of red hair, jeans and freckled limbs.

"Really?" Hermione cried. "We wanted to wait until you were home to announce it!"

"Oh, Hermione, I mean, I just… I-I had no idea! Really, this is… such a SURPRISE!" It seemed that Ginny had no control over what was coming out of her mouth—she knew she was laying it on pretty thick, but she wanted Harry reassured that she would keep his secret and she wanted Hermione to know that she was excited and the overall effect was not exactly working in her favor. So she chose to grin at her friend—(sister!)—and shut up.

The excitement of the engagement lasted well into the early hours of the morning. Bill whipped out a huge bottle of Firewhisky and Arthur made a ceremony of the champagne he'd been saving for a special occasion and they spent the evening toasting Ron and Hermione several times over. All of the cheering and laughing woke Julian; Charlie and Emma gave in and let him stay up without much of a fight. He raced around the yard, chasing gnomes while Fred and George bated him by enchanting the little creatures to fly several feet away every time he got close.

Ginny managed to stay awake purely on the excitement of being home and together with everyone, but soon she was surveying everyone through film-covered eyes, her chin propped in her hand, her elbow sliding slowly off the table. Fred gave her a hard nudge, called her a party-pooper and told her to go to bed. She didn't need telling twice.

She dragged her feet up the carpeted steps to her bedroom, and though her eyes were nearly closed, she knew exactly how many steps and when to turn and reach for her door handle.

"Going to bed?"

She opened her eyes and saw Harry coming down the steps from the second landing. "Oh… yeah," she smiled tiredly.

He stopped when he reached the first landing and regarded her thoughtfully. "You look…"

"Scary?" she supplied when he paused for a moment.

"No," he laughed, "Just very tired."

She nodded. "Yes, well… I have been awake for… a long time," she decided.

His smile became a bit distant for a moment and though her eyelids were drooping, Ginny could tell he was gearing up to say something.

"Listen, thanks for… you know… not telling Hermione and Ron …that I told you about it. The engagement, I mean."

"Oh," she said, waving a hand, "No problem. If I'd have been a bit more awake, I would have been a little more convincing, but…" she lifted a hand.

Harry grinned slowly. "Yeah… you were a bit, er…dramatic. But thanks. I owe you one."

Ginny shook her head and opened her bedroom door, yawning. "Don't worry about it."

Harry nodded and passed her to descend the remaining stairs. "Welcome home," he said over his shoulder.

"Thanks…" she said and watched Harry disappear before clambering into her bedroom. After stumbling out of her clothes and all but falling into bed, just as her eyes were sliding shut, Ginny had a blurry view of her closet door… still concealing her dad's surprise.

She fell asleep smiling.

Chapter Eight

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	9. Chapter Eight

**Title**: "Seeking Ginny"

**Author**: Casca

**Rating**: PG

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G

**Summary**: Ginny Weasley has tried for years to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N: This chapter has been revised as of December 2005.**

Chapter Eight

Home. It was so difficult for Ginny to believe that she was actually home for good, yet it was so easy to just…fall into it. She found herself in her own element over the next few weeks. Most of her childhood had been spent at Hogwarts and the summers had seemed to go by so quickly that she'd barely had a chance to get settled before she was being whisked off to school again. Now she was simply home, with nowhere to go at the end of the summer and no school or university waiting for her. She could stay here forever if she wanted…and it seemed a very tempting prospect indeed.

She loved everything that came with being home. She loved waking up to the smells of breakfast in the morning and padding downstairs to have tea with her mother. She loved being in the middle of the family drama again and prying into her brothers' lives, giving unsolicited advice. She loved greeting her father when he came home from work and hearing about the latest regurgitating toilet or whatever happened to be the subject of the most interesting Ministry tale of the day. She loved talking with Ron and Hermione after dinner, then, after Hermione trudged home, playing cards with Ron. She would never admit it but she loved living with Ron, in a room right below his once again. She loved weeknight dinners, mostly consisting of her parents, Ron, and herself. Occasionally another brother or Hermione would join them, and on the days that Molly minded Julian, Charlie and Emma would turn up after work. She loved weekends even more because it meant more people, more brothers, and more activity.

Of course, there were also mornings when she awoke thinking she could hear Brian in the living room and was actually surprised when she opened her eyes to find herself in her old bedroom. There were the moments when she realized that it was Christian's night off and went to grab some parchment to send a quick owl to Aurelie reminding her to turn off the burners on the cauldrons—only to realize that any post she sent Aurelie would now take days to reach her. Those were the times when she felt a stab of loss that such a huge part of her life was finished. Those were the time when she missed her life in Paris almost desperately.

As the weeks passed, a different life began to take shape and it became so full that Ginny found she wasn't as guilty as she thought she probably should be at not having started work yet. She spent most of her free time with Sarah, who seemed to have a great deal of freedom at her new job. They went into London, had dinner with both of their families, and watched films on Mr. Murphy's television set. Her friendship with Sarah was just as effortless as it had been five years ago, though slightly more mature due to the fact that they were both five years older and wiser. Ginny saw Brian mainly on weekends or evenings as he was forced to fit her into his work schedule, not to mention keeping up with his usual two to three dates per week. There were people from Hogwarts all over the place, shocked to see Ginny back and wanting to make plans to meet up. She helped her mother with the housework, helped mind Julian (who, despite everyone's predictions, did _not_ seem to be warming to Ginny at all) and spent lots of time reading about translation jobs that were available. She spent the little gold she had left from her café wages sparingly and, since there _wasn't_ much left, gratefully accepted the twins' offer to mind the till in their Hogsmeade shop a few afternoons out of the week.

Ginny tied her black apron from the Le Papillon on the hook of her closet door where her Gryffindor tie was in a bow round the knob. Looking at them together gave her a sense of accomplishment. It was as though she'd lived two lives already and the third was just starting. It was both thrilling and scary, especially since she was rather comfortable living in between.

The beginning of her fourth week at home, however, the pressure of not having a real job, or even being close to having a real job, began to sink in. She received a short note from Brian asking if they could skip lunch and have dinner instead because was going to have to work through his lunch hour. After writing back in agreement, Ginny stuck her head in the fire to call on Sarah, but it appeared she was also working, as Mrs. Murphy cheerfully confirmed around the gum in her mouth.

Ginny emerged from the fireplace smiling at the differences between her own mother and Sarah's, but her smile evaporated as she stood in the middle of her empty kitchen. Her mum was out with Julian, all of her brothers were working, it wasn't her day on duty at the shop, and her friends had jobs. It was then that Ginny realized that she was the only person in her family who had no obligations.

As she thought about it, she came to the conclusion that she wasn't as upset with not having a job as she was with the fact that she didn't know what sort of thing she wanted to _do._ She knew that she didn't want any of the jobs that Brian and Bill and her dad had told her about but at the same time felt as though she was being too selective, that she was looking for something that didn't exist.

"A job's a job, Ginny," Ron had told her matter-of-factly the other night when she'd declined Bill's offer to get her an interview for a Gringotts translator position. "You're not going to like it, nobody likes their job."

"Not true," Hermione had broken in.

"Nobody normal," Ron had corrected.

"If you are doing something you _enjoy_, then—"

"Who enjoys _working_?"

This had lead to a debate in which Ginny wholeheartedly agreed with Hermione. Ron's comment hadn't really bothered her then, but now she was starting to wonder. Was there a job out there where she _could _have fun or was that only possible when you were not taking it seriously. Was it only possible for studious people like Hermione to love their careers?

She brought this up to her mother when she arrived home, groceries and a bouncing Julian in tow. Molly made a rather surprising comment as they began putting the food away.

"Ginny, you've been working non-stop for five years, at university and your café."

Julian's 'whoosh, whoosh!' noises could be heard from the garden as he zoomed around on a toy broomstick.

Molly continued, "There's no harm in taking some time off to try and work out what it is that you want to do with your life."

This statement helped punctuate Brian's later declaration when she met him for dinner that night. "Gin, you'll know it when you see it—that's how you work—" he took a long sip of his drink—"so just shut up and keep looking and relax until then, won't you?"

So she forced herself to loosen up about it all, though the guilt of still living at home, taking a charity job from the twins, and not doing anything productive was still there. She felt like she was in the middle of a long journey and she had suddenly reached a resting point. It was okay to stop and take a take a break for a while, but deep inside, she knew that any moment the urge to start up again would come.

"I completely understand how you feel, Ginny," Sarah told her feelingly, her wide, blue-gray eyes filled with sympathy. "I don't know what I would do if I was in your position, not knowing what you wanted to do and where you were going to be in, say, five years. If it were me, I would be panicking."

Ginny couldn't help but smile at Sarah's less-than comforting words which, oddly enough, made Ginny feel more reassured than her mother's or Brian's advice. The two of them were sitting in Sarah's kitchen one sunny afternoon, eating Mrs. Murphy's homemade trifle. The first bite made Ginny close her eyes and forget she had any troubles at all.

"How did I survive five years without this?" she muttered, as if in a trance and carefully spooned some more before lifting it slowly to her lips.

Sarah giggled. "You look like you're an adverts actress."

"You mean like on the television?" Ginny asked, savoring the pudding.

"Yeah… and you didn't go five years without it. Mum made it for you one time when you came home for a visit… can't remember when…."

"It must have been years… but anyway, I'm glad you see it my way, Sarah. Brian was yelling at me for worrying and Mum was also telling me to take my time...and I'm going to, but I do feel nervous about it. I should be doing something, you know?"

"You're working at the joke shop, though, aren't you? That's something. Incidentally, I was going to ask you to ask Fred and George if they need any more help at one of the locations."

"Why?" Ginny grinned. "You want to try your hand at mixing Canary Creams?"

"No," Sarah laughed, "it's for Rosemary."

Ginny had a mental picture of a plump girl of about eight years old with thick glasses and two long brown braids. "Your cousin? Isn't she a little young for a job?"

Sarah smiled. "Not really. She's been out of Hogwarts for a year now and my aunt and uncle are ready to chuck her out – all she does is sit around and read all day. She shows no signs of motivation. They want her to learn responsibility."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "I dunno how she'll learn responsibility working for Fred and George, but I'll ask them. George was saying that Hogsmeade weekends are the busiest times, even busier than summer and with Hogwarts starting up again next month and everything, they'll probably need more help."

"That would be really great," Sarah said. "Especially if she can work with you. You can talk to her about university and all that."

"I'm hardly the role model," Ginny laughed.

Sarah shook her head and stood to bring her bowl to the sink. "You've worked really hard, Ginny. You don't give yourself enough credit."

Ginny looked down at her plate, feeling slightly humbled by Sarah's nonchalant words. It was startling that she, Ginny, could possibly be a role model for anyone.

Setting her spoon down, Ginny pushed back from the table. "I've got to be off—George wanted me to help him stock shelves today."

"Oh—wait, you have to give something to Fred for me," Sarah said, hurrying out of the room and dashing up the living room stairs. Ginny had a brief second to wonder what in the world Sarah had for Fred when pounding footsteps sounded on the stairs and Sarah returned with a glass jar in her hand.

"What is this?" Ginny asked curiously, taking the jar and peering at what seemed to be a sort of cream inside it.

"It's lotion. Fred needs to give that to Angelina Johnson."

"Angelina?"

"Yeah," Sarah sighed. "Mum's good friends with Mrs. Johnson, you know, and she gave some to her and Mrs. Johnson loves it and now Angelina wants a jar. Apparently she really loves it, too," Sarah shrugged.

"Where did you get it?" Ginny asked turning the jar over in her hand. It didn't look like the sort of packaging that hand lotion came in—it appeared to be an old marmalade jar.

"I made it," Sarah said. "D'you want some? It's rather nice."

Ginny barely had time to answer before Sarah was dashing up the stairs again and returning with yet another jar, this one displaying a pickle label. "Here. You should have your mum try it...it's great for dry, overworked hands."

"Hmm," Ginny said, opening the jar and holding it up to her nose. A pleasant, rather clean scent filled her nostrils. "That's nice...what is it?"

"Erm…in that one, it's…" Sarah took the bottle and held it up to her nose. "Ah, eucalyptus."

"Isn't that a tree?" Ginny asked.

Sarah smiled. "Yes, I've used the oils from the leaves and combined them with natural oils from Mum's Sprouting Herb Tree and a few simple fragrance charms for a clean, soap-like scent."

Ginny stared at Sarah as if natural oils from the Sprouting Herb Tree were spilling from her nose. It was true that Sarah had been very gifted at Herbology in school, but she'd never shown any real interest in it outside of their lessons. Ginny could certainly not recall Sarah mentioning the desire to create hand lotion from trees.

"They also contain drops of _Ylang Ylang_—that's a botanical oil that aids in relieving stress and fears, so it will help you deal with your job troubles," Sarah said brightly.

"Wow, that's…really cool." Ginny opened the jar and recognized the scent of lavender. "I didn't know you liked to do this sort of thing."

"It's strange really, how it happened. I just got the idea one day...there's a lot of natural ingredients in hand lotions, and I thought of combining them with magical ones to see what happened and… well, the result is really nice." She hesitated. "D'you have to be at the joke shop right away? There's something that I want to show you."

Ginny was so surprised by this new side of Sarah and intrigued at the sudden sparkle that had jumped into her friend's eyes that she didn't care about being late. George wouldn't mind. She followed Sarah up the staircase onto the landing and watched as her friend climbed clumsily onto a chair, almost losing her balance, but steadying herself enough to reach up to the ceiling and pull down the attic door. Sarah had to duck so that the ladder didn't hit her on the head.

"Sorry," she explained, breathlessly, wiping her fringe out of her eyes. "My lab is up there."

"Lab!" Ginny said, startled. "Sarah, are you living a double life?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Go on, then."

Ginny cringed as Sarah started to climb the ladder unsteadily, occasionally missing a rung, and she followed her up into the attic. With slight difficulty herself, Ginny pushed herself to her feet, straightened up and dusted off her jeans. Her mouth dropped open.

She'd been in Sarah's attic once before and that had been for a slumber party one summer. It had looked just like a normal attic—cluttered and messy but with enough room for five girls to camp out on the floor in sleeping bags. But now, it was completely transformed into… a huge mess. There were cauldrons stacked everywhere, some on burners; one was emitting purple smoke and Ginny wondered if that was the cause for the room smelling like a florists. Or perhaps it was the table full of dead flowers in the corner…or the one piled with bottles of perfume. There were more tables, all pressed up against each other, positively covered with jars and buckets and bottles in all sizes from tall and thin to short and round, from empty to full, from colorful liquids to thick, paste-like substances. Shelves were stacked with huge arrays of potion ingredients and spices which looked like they might topple over any second. Books were stacked on every bit of floor space and plants of all kinds were sprouting from pots, hanging from the ceiling and… wrapping around her ankle.

Ginny yelped and reached down to yank the wandering branch off her leg. Glaring at it, she restrained herself from kicking its pot.

"Sarah," Ginny said weakly. "Do your mum and dad know about this?"

"What… my lab?" Sarah asked in surprise, looking around as if it was nothing more than a knitting corner. "Of course they do."

"And your dad… he's okay with you turning the attic into… into… a lab?" For lack of a better word, Ginny thought.

Sarah sighed. "Well, he was a bit cross about the plant thing, but he is a Muggle, you know, and so I explained to him that some magical plants don't die if they're deprived of sunlight, they just get really, really angry and that can cause rare, but very useful things to occur. Take that Claw Blossom over there—don't look at it directly, Ginny, it hates that. When you don't give it proper sunlight, it gets so angry that it begins to spit a venom that actually works wonders on dandruff…."

By the time Ginny had left Sarah's lab, her head was swimming from the strong fragrances and she was trying to process the fact that Sarah was currently creating her own line of beauty products. It was so completely out of character that Ginny barely said goodbye to her, clutching the two jars of lotion, as she climbed onto the bright red Muggle bicycle parked outside Sarah's house.

"Don't forget to give that to Fred," Sarah called.

"I won't," Ginny said, putting the jars in the basket and tapping her wand to the handle of the bike. It rose into the air and, after another tap, disappeared.

Sarah grinned and waved. "See you tomorrow, Miss Gulch."

Ginny was not about to ponder the new nickname Sarah had given her since she'd seen Ginny's new bicycle, the coming-home gift her father had worked so hard on. Something to do with a Muggle film, Sarah had told her, but Ginny was too preoccupied just then with Sarah's little inventions to think about much else. As she rode home, she couldn't help but smile at the thought of Sarah in the attic, brewing hair potions and hand lotions and Merlin knew what else.

It was a short ride back to the Burrow but Ginny wished it were longer. Though she hadn't thought so at first, the bicycle from her father had been a perfect gift. As the days at home began to pass, she found that she didn't get as much exercise here as she had in Paris. Nobody walked here, it was all about Floo or Apparition and though like everyone else, she found it so much more convenient than having restrictions on Apparition distances, Ginny missed her walks to work and l'Academie. Riding her bike gave her that peaceful time for thought and was much more refreshing than walking.

She arrived home and threw the bike down in the garden, racing into the house and to the fireplace. She managed to communicate to her mother that she was late for the joke shop before flinging herself into the kitchen fire and emerging in the shop.

"You're late," George said crisply, yanking her out of the fireplace. "And why don't you ever Apparate?"

"I'm not used to it," she said, trying to climb out of the fire as he manhandled her. She tried to shove him away but he dragged her by the arm and hurled her towards the till.

"He was next." He pointed to a boy of about twelve at the front of a very long line. It was then that Ginny noticed the place was packed with customers. She looked around and saw that Fred was nowhere to be found, nor were any of their part-time help. Ginny suddenly felt guilty for being so late.

It was nearly three hours before the crowd cleared off, but it felt like three minutes. By the end of it, though, Ginny was hoarse from answering questions and her head was beginning to pound. She rubbed her temples as the bells on George's till rang and he handed the change to the only customer left in the shop.

"I'm sorry," she said to him when he was finally free, "I didn't think it would be so busy. I was at Sarah's."

"Sarah's too wild, Ginny, she's a bad influence on you."

Ginny smiled weakly and sank down onto a stool. "That's what Mum used to say about you and Fred. Didn't you say that you had a Hogwarts student working summer afternoons?"

"Evenings. Bloody idiot if you ask me, though, can't even tell the difference between a sherbet lemon and a Canary Cream—everyone knows what Canary Creams look like, that's why we have to redesign them every three months. What's this?" George asked, lifting the marmalade jar with Sarah's hand cream in it.

"Oh. It's for Fred...well, for Angelina. Sarah made it."

George nodded and handed the jar to Ginny, who had just thought of something. "Hey, whatever happened with Fred and Angelina, then? It was my… third year I think when they broke up and I never heard anything more about it."

"Wonder why…perhaps it was none of your business?"

"Seriously. What happened?"

"Seriously. What happened?" George mimicked her.

"George, come on, we're both adults, you can tell me—"

"George come on, we're both adults—"

"Oh, you are so an_noy_ing."

"Oh, you are so—"

Ginny groaned loudly, drowning him out, and hopped off her stool. "I guess we're _not_ both adults, how could I have been so stupid as to think so?"

"I raised you, young lady!" George's mock voice trailed off as Ginny closed the back room door behind her and went to a cupboard where she knew they kept butterbeer. She made sure to double check for "special" ingredients with a careful spell before tipping the bottle back and taking a huge sip. She sighed afterwards and looked at the bottle appreciatively. It hadn't taken her long to get used to British butterbeer again. Indeed everything at home seemed ten times better than the French version. Except for the cafés, she thought with a grin and emerged from the room into the shop.

She continued to try to get George to talk about the now intriguing breakup of Angelina and Fred as they both stocked the shelves with more product. Ginny kneeled at the 'Be a Bird Barrel,' refilling it with loose Peacock Tarts, Canary Creams, Owl Eats and Parrott Pills from huge boxes of each sweet surrounding her. George stood in a corner and levitated boxes and boxes of Levitating Sugar Quills to an extremely high shelf and was silent as Ginny prattled on.

"I mean the only thing I can't work out is if Mum _was _right in guessing that Angelina was the one who broke it off. That's what Mum told me in secret, anyway. I suppose she probably had her reasons for it, but I just never did see Angelina as being the one to break it off. Unless Fred did something unforgivable which wouldn't surprise me at all. But she's always sort of understood his…faults. She actually used to say it was one of the reasons she liked him so much. But then again, Fred—"

"Fred what?"

They both looked to see Fred himself walking through the door, accompanied by an elephant's roar and a trailing Ron. George shot Ginny an extremely subtle look as he passed her but the message was clear. Shut it.

"Nothing, I was just talking about what a great ugly prat you are," Ginny said, smiling brightly at him.

"Thanks," he said. "You're fired."

"Yes, well, about that _thing_ that blares whenever someone walks through the door. It's a bit annoying, Fred, and the customers think so as well..."

"It's all about marketing, Gin," said Fred with a huge wink. "Advertising the next product."

"Something to do with elephants? I can hardly wait. Are you running out of ideas lately, because I can certainly do better than elephants."

"You've lost your touch, ever since you went all French on us. I don't even think I trust you with our secrets anymore," Fred told her.

Despite the fact that she knew he was joking, and that he knew just the thing to say to get a rise out of her, Ginny felt a stab of the old defensiveness. Flashing back to all the times she'd vowed to prove herself when they wouldn't let her be a part of their team, she stuck out her bottom lip and said, "I have not lost my touch."

But Fred and George weren't paying much attention to her; they both became preoccupied with the contents of the brown paper bag that Fred had brought in. Ginny looked at Ron. "What time are we meeting for dinner tonight?"

There was a chorus of _whoa's_ from both Fred and George. "Trying to make us jealous, isn't she?"

"Seven. Across the street," Ron said.

Ginny's eyes lit up. "The Three Broomsticks?" She clasped her hands happily and Ron rolled his eyes.

Since she'd arrived home, Ginny had frequented The Three Broomsticks as often as she possibly could. She couldn't help it, she loved it in there. It reminded her of Hogwarts and she always saw somebody from the old days. She'd talked for hours with Madam Rosmerta about Le Papillon and some of the drink recipes (not Christian's secret ones) that had been huge sellers. It seemed that Ginny had become rather attached to the place during her youth and since she'd been deprived of it for the past five years, she felt completely justified in dragging people there at least twice a week.

"Yeah," said Ron. "But don't thank me, Hermione was the one who insisted. Bottomless Goblet was my choice after a long, hard day at work." This was emphasized with a yawn and a stretch.

"Bottomless Goblet," Ginny said. "That's all everyone can talk about. What's so special about it, anyway?"

"They have twelve kinds of Firewhisky," George said getting a dreamy look in his eyes. "Dragon's Breath. Intimate Inferno. Imploding Arctic."

"Imploding Acrtic is a bloody masterpiece," Fred said.

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "I'll stick to my butterbeer, thank you." She looked at her watch. "Well, it seems my shift is over."

"You were three hours late," George exclaimed. "What the bugger are we paying you for?"

She rolled her eyes. "My lovely way with the customers! And it wasn't three hours, it was an hour, _if_ that. I have to get ready for my dinner party now."

"Dinner party… with this idiot and his wife."

"Not wife yet," Ron muttered, going red.

Fred snorted. "I have news for you Ronniekins, Hermione's been your wife since your first year at Hogwarts."

Ginny had a glimpse of Ron's ears as they turned bright purple. She got out before it became ugly.

Ginny dressed selectively, making herself pretty, thinking that she may run into someone that she hadn't seen in a while, as was usually the case these days. She let her hair frame her face and chose a yellow sweater with a scooped neckline. Since she didn't want to get dust on her clothes, she decided to Apparate, though she wasn't too fond of it. It was rather silly, but she associated Apparating with two-day journeys in crowded stations.

She arrived outside The Three Broomsticks with a few minutes to spare and when she stepped inside, the atmosphere of the pub was unusually lazy. There were a few tables occupied by families, but the place wasn't bouncing like it would have been on a weekend. Among the few couples sitting at scattered tables, Ginny spotted the one she was seeking. She hurried to the round table where Hermione and Ron were sitting and slid into the seat next to Hermione.

"Hello," she said cheerfully, eyeing the lab coat that was hung neatly over the back of Hermione's chair. "Have you just come from work?"

Hermione heaved a sigh. "Oh, not really; things were so hectic after my shift, I didn't have time to change my clothes."

"Oh, well, don't feel bad—at least you didn't have to leave a job at the joke shop to come here," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "So tell me, what's it like working where you don't have to stock bloody Peacock Tarts?"

Hermione grinned. "Actually, it's been _so_ interesting, lately…" She hesitated. "I don't want to bore you with the details—"

"Not at all, I'd love to hear what you're working on!" Ginny exclaimed and ignored Ron's inquiry whether she knew what she was getting into by saying that. Hermione, also ignoring Ron's comment, launched into an explanation of the sort of things she was doing at her job. Hermione worked for St. Mungo's researching laboratory where she had recently begun experimenting with combining magical ingredients for Muggle medicines.

It was ten minutes later that Ginny began to regret showing interest in Hermione's job. Hermione had barely taken a breath to stop talking about it. Thankfully, Madam Rosmerta saved them, sliding up to the table just when Ginny thought her head might explode. She sent them all a wink.

"What can I get for you, children?"

Hermione started, looking at her watch. "He's really late, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Ron said, "So?"

"Well, it's just—"

"Who?" Ginny asked.

"Harry," Ron and Hermione chimed.

"Harry's coming?" Ginny asked in surprise.

"Supposedly," Hermione said, frowning.

"We're going to wait," Ron told Rosmerta, who nodded and sauntered off.

"We wanted to talk to both of you about the wedding," Hermione said, glancing at her watch again.

"He should be here any minute, he's coming from work," Ron said. "So anyway, no more work talk at dinner—it's rude for the small people who don't understand."

"Fine with me—I have no job to speak of," Ginny said, sighing. "Not that it matters, I've discovered I'm quite good at being unemployed."

"And no talking about _not_ having a job," Ron said.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "That's fine, you go ahead and keep the conversation going, then."

"Cool. The Cannons."

"No Quidditch talk at dinner," Hermione cut in. "It's rude for the people who don't follow it."

Ginny laughed. "But I wouldn't mind that, actually. I mean, erm, Hermione doesn't want to talk about Quidditch, so I don't either," she declared, when Hermione sent her a look.

"Thank goodness you're back, Ginny," Hermione sighed. "If I had to go through this wedding without any female help, I'd be going mad."

"Well, I'm here, so you don't have to worry," she patted Hermione's shoulder.

"Hi," said a fourth voice. Harry had arrived. He shrugged out of his black business robe, revealing a white shirt and navy blue tie. As he settled himself on the stool, he loosened the tie, looking around at them. "Sorry."

"Where were you?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry paused while yanking at his tie and turned his head towards Hermione.

"Where do you think he was, Hermione?" Ron answered impatiently. "Anyway, it's a good thing you showed up when you did, mate, they were just starting to gang up on me. I was outnumbered."

"You want to talk about being outnumbered!" Ginny exclaimed, passing a menu to Harry. "Story of my life, that. I can title my autobiography, 'Ginny Weasley, Outnumbered At Birth'."

They all laughed.

"Are you writing an autobiography?" Hermione asked brightly.

Ginny nearly choked. "No! It would have about three chapters in it."

Hermione exclaimed. "But you've done all sorts of fascinating things—going to University in Paris—"

"That's not fascinating, believe me. So, anyway, you wanted to talk to us about the wedding?"

"Oh. Yes." She straightened in her chair. "So—"

"Well, it's about time, we were about ready to give up on you," said a saucy female voice. Rosmerta had appeared again, slapping Harry playfully on the shoulder. "Ready to order yet?"

Hermione opened her menu, looking a bit hassled that she'd been interrupted and everyone else followed suit besides Harry, who had been rather engrossed in reading the menu since Ginny has passed it to him.

"I think I'll just have the soup," Hermione said, passing the menu to Rosmerta.

"Me too," said Harry. "And a steak."

Ginny smiled at that. "The soup as well for me and a fruit plate."

Rosmerta looked to Ron, who rolled up his sleeves and began rattling off what he wanted. While he was talking, Ginny saw Hermione look justifiably appalled at the quantity of Ron's order, and even Harry glanced at Ron peculiarly when he mentioned poetically that he wanted the cheese on his potatoes to resemble a river.

"All right," Rosmerta said after having to stop and write down Ron's specific instructions. Rosmerta was so good at her job, she could usually remember an order with no notes at all. "Is that all, then?"

"That'll be all," Ginny said. Rosmerta left and Ginny looked at Ron with a completely baffled expression.

"D'you think you've ordered enough to last you through dinner, Ron?"

"I haven't eaten since _lunch_, Ginny," he said meaningfully and Ginny shook her head.

"Neither have any of us, and we didn't order half the menu."

"Excuse me if I don't order a bloody fruit plate and call it a meal."

"Stop fighting, please, we have a lot to talk about here," Hermione said, heaving a sigh.

"We do?" Harry asked, speaking to the group for the first time since he'd apologized for being late.

"Yes, we do," Hermione said, looking at him. "I was telling Ginny before you arrived—" Hermione stressed the last few words—"that we wanted to talk to you both about the wedding."

Harry had lifted a brow at Hermione's blatant reiteration that he'd been late and said nothing.

"So, just go ahead, then Hermione. Sorry we got off track," Ginny said.

"That's alright," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "So, to start—"

"I forgot to get your drink order," Rosmerta said cheerily, appearing again.

Hermione practically deflated in front of them.

"You know what, Rosmerta?" Ginny asked, noticing that Hermione seemed to be getting more disappointed by the minute. "I am going to break my no-drinking rule in honor of my brother and Hermione's engagement."

"Congratulations," Rosmerta said, her eyes lighting up.

"Thank you," said Ginny before Hermione or Ron could say anything. "Now, if you please, Rosmerta, a bottle of champagne?"

"I'd like a Firewhisky," Harry said quickly.

"Yeah, make that two," Ron said.

"A Pimms for me," said Hermione.

"Wait!" cried Ginny, but Rosmerta had walked off.

"Whole bottles of champagne, Ginny?" Ron asked before she could say anything. "I guess you really did turn French in Paris."

"It was supposed to be—"

"I mean, really, I know we used to tease you about the no-drinking thing, but this is ridiculous."

"Shut up, Ron—"

"Don't worry, there might be a program you can join, you know, that will help you become… well, less French."

Ginny normally didn't let Ron's joking get to her. But the fact was that Hermione looked like her head was about to explode from being interrupted so many times and Ginny just didn't find the matter funny at all, no matter how dedicated Ron was to the joke. However, Ginny was then lead against her better judgment when Rosmerta arrived with their drinks. She passed Ron, Hermione, and Harry their drinks, then planted the bottle of champagne right in front of Ginny before walking off.

They all looked at the bottle and for a moment, nobody said anything. Then Hermione let out a little giggle and Ron's eyes lit up so that it was apparent how many jokes were running through his head. It didn't take long for a grin to tug at Harry's mouth and Ron to make a comment about Ginny not even needing a glass before they all, including Ginny, burst into laughter.

Rosmerta, it turned out, was in the process of bringing more champagne glasses and poured out the champagne for everyone, joining them on toasting the engagement.

"So, now… the floor is yours, Hermione," Ginny declared after Rosmerta has left.

"Okay, first off, there's something we need to _ask_ you both," Hermione looked at Ron, who looked back at her with a raised brow.

"Up to you, this, I was the one who made the announcement. And you might want to wait until Ginny's sober."

"I've had two sips, Ron, _two sips_—"

"Oh, _shut_ up," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "My goodness, must you make it so difficult to have a meaningful moment that we'll remember for the rest of our lives?"

"Ginny'll be lucky if she remembers anything at all," Ron said. Harry laughed.

"You—" Ginny began, but Hermione cut her off.

"As you both know, Harry and Ginny," Hermione said loudly. Harry stopped smiling and pretended to look interested. "Besides being family, you both are closer to us than anybody," Hermione was speaking very crisply as if she was teaching a lesson. "There is nobody we'd rather have next to us at the wedding than you two. So, Ginny, will you be my maid of honor, and Harry, will you be Ron's best man?"

Ginny's cheeks hurt. She realized it was because she was smiling so big. She swallowed hard against a sudden lump in her throat and cried, "Of course, I will, Hermione!" Then she stood up and the two of them hugged. Ron and Harry sat watching them.

"Bloody mad," Ron muttered.

"Well?" Hermione asked, looking at Harry. "I didn't hear an answer."

"Of course I will," Harry said, grinning. "Did you think I'd say no?"

Hermione looked at him. "No," she said, smiling. "I didn't." And before anyone knew it, she'd grabbed Harry by the collar and pulled him to his feet to hug him properly.

After the hugging was over, and after another glass of champagne, they talked about the wedding. Or, rather, they listened to Hermione talk, each trying to get a word in here and there.

"Mum says I'm mad, but I think we can pull it off in a year, you know? There is a lot to do, but if Ron and I spend virtually all of our free time on it, it _can_ be done. And with your help," she looked to Ginny and Harry. "And of course, your mum said she would do all that she could, as did my parents. But it is going to be a lot more work if—well," she broke off, looking at Ron nervously. "I haven't exactly told you this yet, but I have a bit of an idea. Your mum thinks it's fantastic. But of course if you don't agree, then we can decide on something else, I'm completely open to any ideas you have—"

"Hermione," Ron drawled. "What's the idea?"

"Well," she smiled at him brightly. A little overly bright, if you asked Ginny. "I was thinking that the perfect place to have the wedding… well… would be the Burrow."

"What!" both Ron and Ginny cried together.

"Now wait just a minute, before you say anything, I'm not talking about inside the _house_, I'm talking about outside, in the garden."

"Outside," Ginny said uncertainly. "Hermione, there's always the chance of rain."

"Yes, but there will be an amazing, beautiful magical _tent_." Hermione looked from Ron to Ginny to Harry with an excited gleam in her eyes.

"You mean like… a camping tent?" Ron asked, dubiously.

"No, no, _no_," Hermione said impatiently. "It'll be outdoors, but covered in case of the rain with a very pretty sheer, sparkly cover, almost like a canopy. And we'll put some anti-water spells all around so there are no mishaps. And the entire garden will be covered with fairy lights and candles and flowers. And the dancing floor will be made of a shimmery glass—"

"What if it breaks?" Ron asked. "Ginny will probably be pissed and fall a few times—"

"Shut up," Ginny commanded. A smile had begun to form on her lips. Suddenly, she could picture it… her over-grown, gnome-infested garden completely transformed into exactly what Hermione was saying. And what was more was the memories of all the summers spent in the garden with both Ron and Hermione. Seeing them get married there would be… well… sort of perfect.

And that's what she said. "I think it's perfect."

Hermione's smile looked like it would crack her face. "Really?"

"Really," Ginny said. "Yes, Ron, I'm being serious. Just trust us, will you?"

Ron looked at Harry, who didn't seem to be concerned about the location of the wedding.

"Really?" Ron asked.

"_Really_," said Ginny and Hermione together.

"Well…I suppose it would be nice not to have to go out for the thing. I mean… all I have to do is… wake up and go outside, right?"

"Well, you'd have to change your clothes. And perhaps shower," Ginny said. "Do you think you think that might be a problem?"

Ron started to respond, but Hermione saved Ginny from whatever pissed joke he had for her this time.

"Anyway," she cut in. "I've had some more ideas." She cast her eyes rather nervously in Ron's direction again and Ginny could tell that Hermione was trying very hard not to take complete control and leave Ron out of the decision making, but it was quite obvious who was going to be running this show.

As Hermione explained in great detail her many ideas about the big day, Ron began to look more and more alarmed. It was clear that he didn't have the first clue about planning a wedding and Ginny wondered where even Hermione had learned it all. Probably from books, Ginny was willing to bet, because some of the things Hermione was bringing up were things that Ginny's romantic mind had never even thought about when she used to daydream about her own wedding.

Smiling a little, and remembering those days, she sneaked a look at Harry. He had never looked more unaware of what was going on around him than he did right now. He sat there making a dull sport out of tapping his fingers on the table, only stopping to lift his goblet and take a sip. Once again he gave the image of being completely alone, even though there were three people sitting at the same table as him. It was then that Ginny noticed that there were also three empty goblets pushed off to the side, clearly having been his.

"So will you help me on that, Ginny?" Hermione continued. "Merlin knows Harry won't have the time, all the hours he puts in at work."

Harry glanced up at the sound of his name and looked around, as though he was daydreaming in class and a professor had called on him.

"Oh… sure, I will," Ginny said, having no idea what she was agreeing to.

"Why would you want Harry's help picking out flowers?" Ron questioned loudly. His hair was standing up a bit from running his hand through while Hermione talked. "He doesn't know anything about flowers."

Hermione sighed. "I don't know, Ron, just to have another opinion, I suppose."

"Well, picking out flowers is something _I_ would like to help you with, Hermione. I love flowers, so it will be fun." Ginny said, trying not to laugh at the thought of Harry choosing between daisies and daffodils.

"I don't know about you lot, but I'm knackered," said Ron, yawning loudly. Feeling a bit relieved, Ginny glanced at Hermione and saw disappointment cross her face. It was awful, Ginny knew, but the truth was as much as she'd been looking forward to discussing the wedding with Hermione, there didn't seem to be much room to say anything at all.

"Bloody hell, Harry." Ron had caught notice of Harry's empty drinks. "How many did you have?"

"Hmm?" Harry looked up, and Ginny could see that his eyes were indeed a bit bloodshot. He didn't look pissed, though, just… tired. "I have nowhere to go besides bed, Hermione," he said with a slight smile, catching Hermione's sudden concerned and rather stern expression.

"Yes, well… _still_, Harry."

"I am a bit tired, as well," Ginny said, standing up and taking her light summer cloak from the back of the chair.

Hermione looked as though she was torn between being disappointed about cutting her wedding talk short and the urge to still dwell on Harry's drink count. "Well, I suppose we can finish our talk later. It is rather late, isn't it?"

Ginny nodded, noting that it was nearing eleven – not very late in her book, but unlike Hermione, she didn't have anywhere to be in the morning. A little voice in her head reminded her that she would be starting to close the café if she were still living in Paris.

"Shall we walk outside together before Apparating, then?" she asked, flipping her cloak over her arm.

She didn't get an answer right away. Harry, who hadn't made a move to get up at all, sat with his shoulders slumped, gazing at the table and Ron was watching him from the corner of his eye.

"I'm… going to stay for a bit," Harry said, once it occurred to him that Ginny had addressed the entire group.

Hermione hesitated and looked as though she was preparing to say something, but a small shake of the head from Ron stopped her.

"Suppose you're right, mate," Ron said, settling back in his chair, and reaching for the bottle of champagne. "We really should finish the bottle."

Harry lifted his eyes to look at Ron as though he knew exactly why he was really staying around.

"All right then," Hermione said, "Ginny, why don't we have a walk—I'd like to hear your ideas on the sort of robes you'd like for the wedding."

They bade good night to Harry and Ron, then left the pub and stepped outside. The temperature had dropped and Ginny welcomed it. She was glad for the autumn weather just around the corner. As they walked, Ginny looked around at the little houses and shops, lopsided buildings, bushels of flowers and stone fixtures. She couldn't help but notice the differences between Hogsmeade and Lacasse. She decided that Lacasse had something that Hogsmeade lacked… a sort of whimsical beauty or elegance to it. However, Hogsmeade seemed … stronger somehow. Perhaps because she'd been grown up in it, had seen it withstand a war. Lacasse was beautiful and sparkling and full of charm and wonder, but here… here was history and ease and a familiar beauty. It accompanied an easy feeling… a feeling of home.

"I'm really happy Harry agreed to be in the wedding," Hermione said a few minutes after they'd started on their walk.

Ginny, startled out of her reverie, looked at Hermione in confusion. "You thought he wouldn't?"

"Well, no, it's just… he works a lot, you know."

"Well…" Ginny trailed off. "He wouldn't miss the wedding because of work."

"Oh, no," Hermione assured Ginny, shaking her head. "At least, I don't think so. But well, he's been a bit… I dunno, strange lately."

Ginny bit her lip. She didn't want to get into Harry's problems. It wasn't her place, so she continued to walk in silence.

"Well," Hermione said, trailing off. "I don't want to bore you with it all—you know Harry—his problems are always surfacing."

Ginny lifted a brow. "I'm … sure he's fine."

"Hmm..." Hermione said, looking as though she wanted to continue, but Ginny hadn't really given her anything to go on.

"So, anyway… the wedding robes…what did you have in mind?"

By the time Ginny made it back to the Burrow, it was just past midnight. As she undressed for bed, she looked at the little floating numbers over her bedside table and thought to herself about what she would have been doing if she still lived in Paris.

She'd have just gotten home after taking the long route back to the flat…or she'd still be at her bridge, catching up on owling. A glance at her desk showed Ginny that she had only one letter to answer just now—Aurelie's, who had written yesterday. There was also a note that Sarah had sent her about meeting tomorrow for lunch and a photograph of Lacasse that she'd been meaning to put in a frame. Ginny remembered how her desk at the flat used to be overflowing with letters.

She slipped into her bed and closed her eyes. Though she loved being home and wouldn't trade it for anything, just for tonight, she imagined that she was back in her cozy little flat and she would wake up to the sounds of Paris coming through her window tomorrow morning.

Chapter Nine

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	10. Chapter Nine

Title: "Seeking Ginny"

Author: Casca

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Through Goblet

Classification: Post-Hogwarts H/G

Summary: Ginny Weasley has tried for years to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's Note: I hope that this chapter does not disappoint you. It introduces and focuses on several themes that will be a big part of the story and has more "action" as you've begged for. I'd just like to take this opportunity to point out that this fic doesn't have a lot of action—it's mainly an internal study of Ginny's character and how she and Harry can find each other after their lives have lead them down different roads. I believe that slow, detailed build-up makes the actual "love story" all the more gratifying, even though it's frustrating to read (and write, believe me). So forgive me for that and for the long length of this chapter! Thanks and I'll be looking forward to hearing your thoughts on it!

On another note, I'd like to thank Splatt for the fastest beta of the longest chapter yet and Emmyjean for the very detailed one—all done so that this chapter could be uploaded in time for Halloween. I am shocked to be able to update with a Halloween chapter on Halloween! Hope yours was a spooky one!

**This chapter has been updated as of March 2006**

Chapter Nine

Though she didn't have a real job, Ginny felt as though she had even less time to herself than she'd had when she'd been living in Paris. She reckoned that Brian had a lot to do with it since their time together could no longer be spent just sitting around the flat and having dinner or studying and catching up now meant making the effort to get together. Between Brian, Hermione's recent need for wedding help, spending time with Sarah and working at the joke shop, Ginny felt she had more to do than anyone. Not to mention the _new_ development.

Ginny had been the one with the big idea and she had to admit that it had turned out to be extremely successful, though Fred and George would probably take credit for it. In reality, however, it was _Sarah_ who had made it all possible - though Sarahalways modest, would credit Ginny. In any event, unlikely group that they were, Ginny, Sarah, Fred and George combined their creativity in a small business venture that had surprised all of them with it's immediate success.

The idea had come to Ginny while working a busy day at the Hogsmeade joke shop, assisting in providing young boys with tools that would eventually wreak havoc on the lives of their families, when she noticed something about Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' patrons for the second time. Very few customers of the female variety actually bought anything, but there were many young girls _in_ there, waiting for their friends or brothers. They huddled around the doors or roamed the shop carefully, constantly looking over their shoulders in case something were to explode, and occasionally being brave enough to pick up a product with the very tips of their fingers.

Ginny decided to target the girls and see if there were any products they might be interested in. She quickly found that, though _she'd _always been fascinated with Wild-Fire Whiz-Bangs and Portable Swamps, most young girls were not. They were more interested in the sorts of things advertised in Teen Witch, which promoted the latest styles in robes, cosmetic charms, potions for the hair and… _skin products_.

Ginny had immediately thought of Sarah's "lab" and mentioned featuring her stuff in the joke shop to the twins. It hadn't been something that she'd necessarily thought out, and when she brought it up to them, she hadn't expected them to downright refuse. Perhaps it had been a good thing that they did because it brought out the old defensiveness in her.

"Are you mad?" George had said, while Fred and Charlie, who had stopped by earlier, laughed.

"No, I'm not mad," she'd said, feeling furious that they weren't taking her seriously. "You have no products that target _girls_. It's all about turning humans into animals and playing with fire and girls just aren't interested in that sort of thing."

"You were."

Ginny waved her hand. "Only because I wanted to impress _you_ lot, and don't ask me why. Look, I think it would be a very smart business move for you."

"We're a joke shop, Ginny, not a salon," Fred had said, finally coming up for air from his laughing bout. "I mean, lotion…?" He'd looked like he was about to start up again but Charlie had interupted.

"Hang on a minute… she does have a point. Have you even tried that lotion?"

At this point, Fred had sent him a suspicious look. "Have _you _tried that lotion?"

Charlie didn't look the slightest ashamed. "Yeah, it's brilliant. Emma has some."

Ginny looked surprised. "Where did Emma get hold of a bottle?"

"Her mum – she's friends with Angelina Johnson's mum, and –"

"Is everyone friends with Angelina Johnson's mum?" Ginny had mused.

It had taken more than Charlie's endorsement to convince the twins. The final verdict had remained a huge '_no_' until a few days later, when Ginny went in for an afternoon shift and, out of the blue, Fred had pointed to her and said, "Fine. Tell Sarah she's on."

Ginny hadn't needed telling twice—she had no idea what had changed their minds, but that wasn't important. The only problem left had been to break it to Sarah.

Sarah had not been as firm as the twins, but she was just as unsure about it. Her main concern had been that the lotion would be a huge failure and that Fred and George would hate her forever as a result. Ginny had assured Sarah that if the lotion did become a huge failure, they wouldn't blame _Sarah _at all. It would only be added to the long list of things they already held over Ginny's head, none of which Ginny cared about in the least. And anyway, it _wouldn't _be a failure - it was already an enormous success just from word of mouth, and Ginny could only imagine what would happen once it was properly marketed. Sarah, unable to provide a valid reason that Ginny couldn't argue against, had reluctantly agreed.

And so, after a brief discussion about financing and one week of Sarah frantically making enough to fill the display Fred and George had ordered, the product hit the shelves—and the jars flew off of them as if people were summoning them from their houses.

Not that the display the twins had supplied was exactly a success – in fact, Ginny had accused her brothers of sabotage the moment she'd seen it. The huge photograph of Sarah that they'd chosen to market the product was probably the worst one that they could find, and it wasn't even recent – it had probably been taken in third or fourth year. Poor Sarah was staring straight at the camera, her eyes wide and her mouth open in dumb shock.

Ginny had been outraged. Sarah had been close to tears. Fred and George argued about originality and focal points, things Ginny and Sarah refused to try and understand. In the end, it was too late to change it and the product sold anyway. Ginny supposed that she had to hand it to Fred and George – they certainly knew how to get people's attention.

Whatever the reason, the products spoke for themselves. They sold with huge success, causing Sarah to go into full-blown creative-mode, spending hours in her lab brewing products and inventing new things.

"I always wanted to try out new ideas but I always felt guilty for indulging so much time in a hobby," she explained from behind a cloud of orange smoke one afternoon when Ginny stopped by to see how she was doing. "But if it's benefiting others, then I don't feel guilty at all!" This was punctuated by a loud explosion as the orange smoke turned green and they threw their arms over their heads for cover.

After several weeks of Sarah's products selling like mad, Ginny sat at her kitchen table sporting wrinkled nightclothes and a messy knot of hair, carefully magicking hand lotion into bottles for Fred's afternoon pickup. Since her charm work had been suffering lately due to her impatience to get things done quickly, (evidenced by the unsuccessful Waking Charm that had caused her to sleep late this morning) Ginny took careful time to make sure the jars were filled properly. It was a rather time-consuming process so when a knock on the door revealed Brian in rather spiffy navy business robes and vest, her eyes lit up.

"You've come to help! Grab a jar and fill!"

Brian stared at the huge mess on the kitchen table, which included four bubbling cauldrons and a large carton of jars with Sarah's acne-covered face staring up from each of them. Wincing, he muttered,

"Never mind, I'll use my lunch hour somewhere else."

"Wait!" she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. "Fred is going to be here any minute and I'm not even close to being done. Here, have a seat…take a carton…thank you," she smiled brilliantly at him as she sat down again.

Reluctantly, Brian complied. Before starting, he sniffed a jar full of lavender lotion and made a face. "Right, so I've been meaning to ask you," he said, setting the jar back down and reaching for an empty one. "When are we going to start looking for flats?"

Ginny nearly choked as she gulped her hot tea. "Brian," she said, her eyes watering, "Shall I paint the picture of my life for you?"

He rolled his eyes. "You don't have to paint anything. I understand that you want to have a proper job first. But Ginny, I can pay your half of the rent until you find something."

"I don't want you to pay for anything. I'm not going to move in with you and make you support me."

"You're doing it to your parents."

She laughed. "That's different. My parents are used to children who never leave home. Look at Ron."

"Yes, but Ron's getting married and moving out."

"I don't plan to live here forever!" she exclaimed, laughing. "It's just…my finances are a bit…non-existent right now. Look, can't you just find some nice girl to settle down with and leave me alone?"

Brian leaned across the table and pointed a finger at her. "If you ever think that I'm heading in that direction, I want you to snap me out of it. Do we understand each other?"

"If you ever think of heading in that direction, I'll start planning the wedding myself."

"You only say that because you know it's safe."

She sighed. "I wish it weren't. You'd make some girl very… miserable," she decided, shaking her head in defeat.

"I know. That's why I'm not doing it—out of the goodness of my heart."

Ginny stood and walked towards the pantry to get another tea bag. "You never do anything out of the goodness of your heart."

"Ginny, that's a horrible thing to say," said Molly, stepping into the kitchen, holding a basket of gardening tools. "Hello, Brian."

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley. Do you need help with that?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine, thank you. I'm off to try my hand at this tree-growing business. Anyway, mind you talk in low voices, Julian is napping upstairs." With that, she went off to garden.

"Anyway, just hurry up with that, won't you?" Brian said. "You're my only prospect for a flatmate right now and besides, I miss finding your bras and things in my washing."

Ginny had just shaken her head at that when the back door closed again. Thinking that her mother had forgotten something and that she'd overheard Brian's comment, she whirled around. However, it wasn't her mother who had come inside. Standing in the doorway were Fred, Ron and Bill, brows lifted, looking like some sort of guard. Ginny snorted. "What are you lot doing home?"

"You know why I'm here, Ginny," Fred said menacingly. "And it doesn't look like you've finished."

The others trailed in and Bill, being the only decent one among them, stopped to introduce himself to Brian.

"Just about, look!" Ginny exclaimed. "Most are filled. Here, you can take what's finished and—"

"No, _you_ can take them back with me. I've got plenty for myself to do, Ginny, I can't be stocking shelves; we're in development for those Rooster Eggs I was telling you about. Also, I forgot to tell you, we're getting requests at the Diagon Alley shop for the lotion, so let Sarah know she'll have to make double."

"Double! But she can't, she's—"

"She has to, Ginny, we can't sell them at one shop and not the other."

"But Fred, this wasn't supposed to be—I mean, I thought they would be just for the girls in Hogsmeade—"

"There are girls in Diagon Alley too, Ginny!"

"Yes, but—"

"We need the product. Sarah should have thought of this before. If she wasn't going to have the time—"

"It's not Sarah's fault," Ginny insisted. "Don't blame _her_ for being successful."

Fred looked as though he wanted to say something else but Ginny shook her head. "Look, forget it, alright? You'll get your supply for Diagon Alley. You just have to give us a little time."

"Right, let's go. We have to be there before the after-lunch rush, it's almost one o'clock—"

"One o'clock?" Ginny shrieked. "I have to meet Hermione for wedding stuff—oh, damn it all to hell!" she exclaimed to which her mother replied, "_Ginny_," as she stepped back inside the house.

"I have to meet her in five minutes, Mum, and I'm not even dressed!"

"I'm going to go," Brian said, standing. "My break is almost over – I'll see you tonight?" he asked Ginny, who stared at him distractedly until he said, "Dinner with my mum? She owled you yesterday?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Ginny remembered. "Six o'clock – I'll be there. I want show her some of Sarah's new foot cream."

After Brian said farewell to everyone, Ginny dashed upstairs, feeling badly that she hadn't been able to settle things with him. She vowed to spend the entire evening with him and his mum tonight. She dressed in record speed and when she thudded down the stairs, saw a very terse Fred leaning against the worktop, lifting a brow at her.

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly, "Hermione's waiting, Fred, I'll have to stock the shelves later."

"Ginny, you made a commitment to us—"

"I know, I _know_, and I promise to be there as soon as Hermione and I are finished."

"Never mind," Fred sighed, "I'll do it this time, but next time it's on you."

"Agreed," Ginny said and couldn't resist punching his shoulder affectionately before Disapparating.

She went straight to Hogsmeade, Apparating right on a small street called Wellington Avenue where Hermione had seen a boutique for bridal robes. Ginny followed the numbers along the row of trendy pubs and shops, all completely new to her. There was nothing to do with wedding robes at all, however, and nothing even close to the name Hermione had given her. She stepped inside a clothing shop and asked the girl at the counter if she knew where the place was with no luck. Ginny tried another shop and then another, but nobody had even heard of the place and Ginny had the distinct feeling that something in Hermione's directions had been wrong.

She groaned when she looked at her watch and saw that it was half past one – half of Hermione's lunch hour was gone. Apparating back into her bedroom, she began to anxiously leaf through the papers on her desk, trying to find Hermione's letter; when she couldn't, she whistled for Maurice to send a fast note of apology off to her, but remembered that he was out delivering letters to Christian and Aurelie.

"Pig!" she called, racing up the stairs into Ron's room. But Pig's cage was empty. "Damn!" she cried, then shook her head.

She wasn't mistaken. That address _had_ said Wellington. Ginny remembered this because Wellington Avenue in Hogsmeade had become quite famous over the last few years for its fashionable little shops and fun pubs, but Ginny had just missed the start of it when she'd left for Paris. Now, every time she admired somebody's jumper or cloak, they all pointed her in the direction of one place: Wellington Avenue. Ginny had remembered thinking that they would most definitely find suitable wedding robes there.

Once again, she Apparated, but this time to the very start of the street and began slowly walking down, looking at all the shop names carefully. She'd been in such a hurry that she'd probably walked right past it, though that didn't explain why none of the shop owners knew anything about it. By the time Ginny had gone halfway down Wellington Avenue, a glance at her watch told her that it was no use—Hermione would have to be heading back to work in a few minutes anyway. Feeling terrible that she hadn't given herself more time, Ginny looked up and down the row of shops that lined the street in two vibrant strips, each structure a different shape and color.

Her attention was drawn to the one in front of which she happened to be standing. It was a tall building made of bright sapphire bricks and looking to be almost three floors, complete with a small balcony overflowing with potted plants. What was mostly different about it from all the others was that it had an outdoor tiled patio of sorts, which was fenced off with a pretty fence. Ginny glanced at the lopsided sign over the doors reading "Sarah's Sews – For all your sewing and knitting needs."

Ginny decided to try one last shop to see if they knew anything about the boutique she was searching for and then she would stop at the post office and write to Hermione.

The inside of the sewing shop was just as intriguing as the outside, with a round tiled fountain directly in the middle of the floor and baskets and baskets of brightly colored sewing supplies. Ginny had the urge to take up sewing just so she could frequent this shop.

"What can I do for you?" asked a voice from behind a counter; Ginny noticed that the countertop was tiled with the same blue patterned tiles that the made up the fountain.

"Sorry," Ginny said to the woman. She had piles and piles of white hair which were pulled and twisted into several knots on top of her head and was smiling despite a fatigued look in her eyes. Ginny inquired about Hermione's wedding robe shop, knowing that it was hopeless and sure enough the lady looked confused.

"I've never heard of that before. But then, if it's new I've probably not heard of it."

"Oh, well, thank you. You have a beautiful shop yourself," Ginny said.

Her smile disappeared. "Thank you. It's…not mine anymore, though."

Ginny looked at her interestedly. "It's been sold?" She was suddenly excited that this adorable place may become something else, something she might enjoy.

"No, not yet. I've got to sell, though, sales are down. Nobody sews properly anymore, no time – new charms are always being discovered for that sort of thing. But there's no art in that, that's what I say. Learning the art by hand, it's so much more rewarding!"

Ginny nodded, feeling rather sorry for her, but still anxious to know what sort of company would buy the place. She made a mental note to stop by in a few weeks to inquire about it as she headed toward the exit and smiled at a young girl in her teens standing at the doorway. She had her arms crossed and looked rather impatient as her mother shopped in the fabric aisle. The site made Ginny think of all the impatient girls at the joke shop, waiting for the boys to finish indulging in creating mischief.

Ginny paused, her hand frozen on the door handle. A very tiny thought entered her head and suddenly all the blood in her body rushed to her face. It was a heady feeling that made her dizzy, and it was all due to one tiny, passing thought. Going with instinct, Ginny whirled around, unaware of the impatient look being thrown at her by the teen in the doorway, and marched straight up the white haired woman behind the counter.

"What's your asking price?"

For as long as she lived, Ginny would remember the week following her discovery of the pretty sewing shop on Wellington Avenue as a complete blur of numbers, questions, prayers and a permanent feeling of anxiety. She would remember rushing home after talking to the white haired lady for nearly an hour and owling Bill with a shaking hand, asking him to meet her after work and how her anxiety only increased when he couldn't answer any of her questions. She would also remember that her excitement on the matter tripling when he told her that if anyone could pull it off she could and what was she doing talking to him of all people when her other two brothers would have all the answers she needed?

She would remember dreading that she would have to plead with Gringotts for them to lend her the gold this would need and anxiously brushing up on her Gobbledygook to impress the goblins. And finally, she would remember the day that it all came together when the twin brothers that she'd cursed and fought with and idolized her entire life became her heroes and that she'd vowed to spend the rest of her life indebted to them for so much more than the piles of gold they basically gave her on good faith.

"Invested," they called it – to be paid back in time along with a small percentage of profit which Ginny knew was more than fair since there wouldn't be a great deal of profit for awhile. She suddenly didn't care about galleon amounts or her pride or anything that would prevent her from taking what Fred and George offered, which she would always deem a gift no matter what terms they used. Ginny was prepared to put it all aside and be grateful to the point of worship for the rest of her life.

It didn't matter that Ginny and Sarah were just two girls, one with a university degree in linguistics of all things, one with basic bookkeeping skills, neither with any shop owning experience at all. It didn't matter that they would probably have to put their blood and sweat into this for many years to come to make it work and that the chances of it failing were big no matter how good a feeling Ginny had about it. Nothing mattered. Ginny had never felt this inspired before about anything. Those feelings of restlessness had suddenly come alive inside her and she was actually excited, rather than unsure, about the months to come.

Sarah, on the other hand, was completely terrified. It had taken Ginny, Fred, _and_ George to convince her that this was an opportunity that she couldn't pass up. Ginny has laid everything out very clearly for her. She, Ginny, would take complete control of remodeling the shop. Fred and George, as the investors, would provide the funds. Ginny would hire one or two or as many assistants as Sarah needed to actually brew the products. The only thing Sarah had to worry about was inventing formulas and since she already had two basic products and a horde of others in the works, there would be no reason for her to have to quit her job.

It had taken four hours, three pots of tea, and basically shooting down every 'but' Sarah could muster before Sarah finally said, "Okay…what do we do first?"

Fred and George grinned. Chills raced down Ginny's spine and she leapt from the table and danced exuberantly around the kitchen. "I promise you, Sarah! I'm going make this as easy on you as I can!" she declared, pulling her friend from the chair and twirling her around.

"Now, wait, don't say that," Sarah said, laughing. Ginny felt a thrill at the sparkle in Sarah's eyes. "I'm prepared to do my share of the work. If we're to be partners then I'll make the commitment, same as you."

It wasn't until a week later, when Ginny was sitting at the kitchen table of the Burrow with the title to the shop laying on the surface in front of her that she began to feel afraid.

All the paper work had been completed. She and Sarah officially owned the little shop on Wellington Avenue. Well, technically, Fred and George owned it since they had provided them with the money, but they became so furious when Ginny had offhandedly mentioned this earlier that they were going to draw up their own contract, stating that it this was a loan and nothing more. When Ginny and Sarah signed, there would be no question as to who the owners were.

Nevertheless, it was frightening seeing her name on such an official document. Property Owner, it said. She was the owner of a property, soon to become a business. A thrill raced through her. She thought of the little shop, of Sarah's Sew, that was now taking shape in her mind as the place that was going to sell lotions and hand creams and things that Ginny had never particularly cared too much about. It was the place that she was going to actually own, along with Sarah, her oldest friend in the world, now linked together in business as well.

Suddenly, a host of "what if's" began to seep their way into her mind. And just as she was starting to panic, there was a tiny knock at the back door and Sarah stepped in cautiously.

"Ginny?"

"Oh, come on in, Sarah," Ginny said brightly, aware that she couldn't vent to Sarah about her worries because it was all she needed for Sarah to start panicking as well.

"I quit my job," Sarah said as she pulled up a chair.

It took Ginny several seconds to comprehend what she had said. "You…you what!"

Sarah shook her head as if it were obvious. "It's not going to work, Ginny. I'm never going to be able to give the shop my full attention if I have to constantly be worrying about my other job—"

"But, Sarah…it's your job!"

"Yes, and my parents completely support me in the decision – they think I have a great talent and they're really excited. They _encouraged_ me to quit!"

"But…Sarah, how will you manage?"

To Ginny's surprise, Sarah rolled her eyes. "I don't spend any gold, Ginny. I never have. That's why I have plenty saved."

"Sarah, we don't know how long it will be before we actually make a profit—"

"I'm willing to take the risk, just like you," Sarah insisted, leaning across the table in earnest. "The truth is, _I_ should have had this idea. Only I would never have _had _an idea like this. I'm never willing to take any chances because I'm always so worried about things going wrong. But this time, it's not going to go wrong. I _feel_ it, Ginny. Especially with the two of us as partners."

Ginny looked at Sarah's brilliant, eager smile, knowing that her friend was speaking from her heart. Above anything Ginny would remember later as she looked back on the whole thing, she knew that she would remember this as the moment she felt the most scared and the most excited. The two seemed somehow intertwined.

Sarah of Sarah's Sew and her business were scheduled to move out two weeks after they had signed all the papers, which meant that Ginny and Sarah had two weeks to plan everything before they were actually able to move in. They agreed to keep the fountain in the middle of the shop and Sarah had the idea to make the water scented with a different scent every day.

Sarah's creativity seemed to flourish, as did the lab in her attic which would eventually move to the basement of the shop. She had thought up several new products and now their inventory consisted of an array of lotions and creams in many different scents and functions, as well as specialty items such as self-massaging foot cream and easy-styling hair solution. Sarah was also credited with the idea of the "Feel-Good Bar" which was a tentative title that Ginny loved and Sarah, Fred and George hated. It would be a counter in the shop where Sarah would offer an array of botanical oils, bottled charms and many, many scents for the customers to create their own personalized products. The scents ranged from eucalyptus to chocolate cake to Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover and the charms and effects were endless.

The only decision that remained was the name of the shop. It was a point of conversation every hour of the day. No matter where Ginny was, someone would look up and blurt things from out of the blue. "The Essential Body?" or "Sea of Skin?" Ginny was completely uninspired by all of them. Soon they would have to start printing the labels for the products and then what would they do?

The title they used for practice had been a nickname that Fred and George had taken to calling Sarah. Every time Sarah walked into the Burrow, one of them would shout out, "It's the Lotion Lady!" In order to put something on a label or sign, they used "Lotion Lady" for the time being. It had been funny at first, but soon became a huge source of pressure every time they saw it. Ginny decided not to think about it and trusted that inspiration would hit randomly, just as it had for virtually every other decision so far.

As autumn arrived, plans for the shop began to finalize. The first Hogsmeade weekend for Hogwarts students occurred during the second week of October and Ginny watched hoards of young girls gather round the front of the shop, talking excitedly and pointing to the "Coming Soon" signs which listed some of the products. Ginny then had the idea to advertise by offering a sampling of the products, so Sarah forced her cousin Rosemary to stand outside the shop giving out samples of Idea-Inspiring Body Cream, designed to inspire intelligence and sharpen the senses. Sarah thought it would be the perfect thing for students having a difficult time getting back into the swing of school again. Ginny suggested she and Sarah use it to help inspire them with a name for the shop.

Their goal was to open the doors for the next Hogsmeade visit, during November, which would require a great deal of haste. However, they already had several faithful customers who'd returned all weekend to pick up more free samples for their friends, so it seemed a reasonable goal.

On Saturday morning, Ginny shopped for supplies while Sarah had locked herself in the attic, brewing products. By lunchtime, however, Ginny was due elsewhere and she had just enough time to drop off the supplies she'd purchased at the shop before Apparating to a little restaurant where Hermione had chosen to meet for yet another wedding discussion.

When she entered the restaurant, Ginny did a scan of the crowd for Ron's red hair, but all she found was a table of hags in the corner and a blonde woman at the bar. Marveling that she was the first to arrive when Hermione was always early for everything, Ginny found a table with four chairs and sat down to wait. It never entered her mind that she would be sitting for more than twenty minutes before anyone arrived, and when she finally saw Hermione wave to her from across the bar, Ginny waved back, feeling only slightly put out. Hermione also had a lot to do these days, what with the wedding and the big projects at St. Mungos.

"Is everything okay?" Ginny asked when Hermione stared at the table in confusion.

"Where's Harry?" she demanded.

Startled, Ginny looked at the clock over the bar. "Late, I suppose. Why?"

"I told him one o'clock," she said impatiently.

Ginny quirked a brow and smirked. "Yes...well, you only _just_ arrived yourself and it's twenty past."

Hermione heaved a huge sigh. "Well…"

"Where's Ron?" Ginny asked.

"Oh, he couldn't make it – he had something to do for work."

Ginny had work to do as well, but she'd made time to be here. "What the hell is he doing? Shouldn't he be here to actually, oh, I dunno – be the groom?"

Hermione waved a hand. "He insisted that we go ahead and quite frankly, Ginny, I'm rather glad of it. He'll only complain about everything, you know how he is. Thanks for being here, by the way. I know that you're really busy with the shop—how is that going?"

"Hi," came a male voice and they both turned in surprise to see that Harry had arrived and was whipping off his cloak. "I know, I'm late. Sorry."

"So was Hermione," Ginny piped up before Hermione could scold him.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Title**: "Seeking Ginny"

**Author**: Casca

**Rating**: PG

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G

**Summary**: Ginny Weasley has tried for years to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Chapter Ten

The twenty-four hours before the grand opening of Ginny and Sarah's shop found the two business owners brewing what was left of the products and bottling it all into the brand new packaging that had just arrived from the labeling company. The setting of this project consisted of the shop's rather dingy basement and a dozen bubbling cauldrons from which a dozen different aromas rose.

Ginny and Sarah had begun working at one o'clock on Thursday afternoon and by the time midnight rolled around, they were so tired that Ginny could barely see straight as she cast her spells to fill the jars. Sarah, who'd kept nodding off, took about twenty minutes to finish each step in the creation process just to make sure she was doing everything correctly. Then, around four in the morning, their energy began to rise; they had taken a short break to retrieve Ginny's wireless from her bedroom at home and the music helped, as did the brief change of scenery. Before they knew it, they had energy in abundance. The scents rising from the cauldrons were welcoming and they sung loudly to the tunes, laughing at jokes and working quite efficiently.

And then came the fatigue—it hit them like a hippogriff stampede at about one o'clock on Friday afternoon, which was exactly twenty-four hours from when they had begun. When Ginny stood up from the stool she had sat on around thirteen hours prior, her knees buckled and she allowed herself to plop unceremoniously onto the stone floor.

"Ouch," she said, and stayed there because she was too tired to get up. Sarah's voice, however, cut through the fog in her brain. Sarah tended to mumble while she worked, but this time, her words caused Ginny to narrow her eyes suspiciously.

"Well, I can't really believe it, but I think it's true, isn't it, if my calculations are correct, I can only assume that it means we're finished, but is that really possible, I mean to say…" Sarah continued to mumble to herself, but Ginny, having caught only two words in her entire ramble, gaped at Sarah.

"What do you mean 'we're finished'?"

"I mean we're… done. Right? Let me see… yes… if that's correct," she muttered, looking around at the mess and scratching her head, "it means … we're _actually_ done." Sarah hopped off her stool with a great deal more grace than Ginny. "If you count all of these boxes and times them by twelve - the number of bottles in each – well, except for the extra large jars of the Self-Massaging Foot Cream, only six jars to each box—or is it seven? Well, anyway, if you count the boxes of twelve - you'll see that we have enough to stock the shelves three times over which would mean that we've actually met our goal! We're done!"

"Are you sure?" Ginny asked, still on the floor, looking around at the cartons and cartons of products stacked around the dusty basement.

"Yes! Because each carton has a dozen products—except for the extra large jars of the Self-Massaging Foot Cream, as I said, but anyway, I don't think that people will really want the huge jars since it will be the first time they're using the products, so we can get away with half of those." Sarah moved around the room as she spoke, floating the cartons one by one up the stairs and into the shop as Ginny watched, helpless. "So anyway we have eight cartons of each product and room for two out on the shelves right now so there you go – we can refill three times, after we stock the initial two boxes. And don't forget I'll brew more as we go. I mean I doubt we'll be selling out of things right away and—"

Ginny nodded as Sarah kept reasoning, then pulled herself from the floor and dusted the dirt off her jeans. "All right, sounds good. Shall we stock the shelves, then?"

Sarah waved her hand at Ginny – unfortunately it was her wand hand, which sent a box of Wrinkle-Vanish Ointment hurtling across the room; it nearly spilled before Sarah hastily righted it. "Oops. No, we don't have to stock the shelves. I told Rosemary to come by tonight to do it. She has a copy of the diagram we wrote and I went over it with her when she was here the other day, I even drew another one with more detail so that she'll be able to handle it."

"Oh," Ginny said, looking around. "Are you sure she _can_ handle it all?"

"Oh, she'll be fine, she's glad to earn the extra gold. And there isn't that much left, Ginny, all she has to do is…" Sarah kept talking, pushing a plait of hair over her shoulder with her arm as she continued to float the cartons upstairs. Since she flat-out refused to work for Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Sarah's cousin had agreed to work for Ginny and Sarah for as much as they could afford to pay her.

The two chatted a bit more as they climbed the stairs into the shop, then parted ways outside. Ginny considered for a moment that she was too tired to Apparate, but realized that it would take an even bigger effort to walk to the joke shop to use the twins' fireplace—she hadn't stocked floo powder in her own shop yet.

Adding that to the long list of things to do before tomorrow morning, Ginny pulled out her wand and concentrated on clearing her mind so that she didn't wind up splintched a day before the grand opening. The cluttered worktop of the Burrow kitchen came into view and she sighed with relief. No body parts were missing.

"Hey," she said to Ron, who was sitting in the kitchen and looking at a copy of the Daily Prophet that lay on the table in front of him. "Aren't you supposed to be… what's wrong?"

Ron's brow was drawn, his face pale. Wordlessly, he picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet and handed it to her.

Ginny looked down at the paper in confusion for a moment, then she saw the headline of the front page article: _Eleven-Year-Old Son of Ministry Executive Killed by Captor, How Harry Potter Risked his Life To Save the Boy._

Ginny looked up at Ron. "How—what happened—?"

"Just read it."

She pulled out the nearest chair and sat as she began to read the article:

_Late last night, ten year old Devon Forthwright was killed in a devastating incident involving his captor, Andrew Cummings, pictured left, who has apparently been holding Forthwright captive for several months. Devon is the son of William Forthwright, a prominent member of England's Ministry of Magic and has been working with the Ministry's team of aurors to help bring his son home. Harry Potter was assigned to the case in early summer and has since been working tirelessly, along with the Ministry's Auror Division, to find the boy. Potter was not available for comment, but head of the Division, Kingsley Shacklebolt has stated in a release this morning that the department received a lead yesterday in the form of a randsom note, demanding one million galleons for the safe return of the child. "We did everything that was wizardly possible," said a fatigued Shacklebolt to the press, "to rescue the boy. But it was not enough. Our hearts go out to the Forthwrights during this difficult time."_

_Details are unclear as to how the boy was killed, but sources say that Shacklebolt lead his team of aurors to a house where they believed the boy was being held. The rescue mission tragically failed when the young boy was caught in crossfire. _

_A photograph below shows Devon Forthwright with his father, promoting Devon's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, at a game held in Durham last May. The photograph was taken just a few weeks before Devon's disappearance. _

Speechless, Ginny's eyes found the huge photograph of Devon Forthwright – a dimpled grin minus two front teeth beamed up at her beneath a Cannon's hat.

"My God," Ginny whispered.

"Yeah," said Ron, his voice rough. He cleared his throat.

"Have you spoken to Harry?" she asked, swallowing hard, tearing her eyes away from Devon Forthwright's face. It was Julian in a few short years.

"No… I've just read this… Hermione owled it to me, she's trying to finish up with work, but there's something really important she had to do there and…the hell with it, she should just leave!" he exploded. "She works like a bloody house-elf!"

Ginny looked up at Ron. "She's probably torturing herself about how hard she's been on Harry. Maybe work is her escape."

"Yeah, well, that's ironic, don't you think? Anyway, I haven't exactly been supportive," Ron admitted gloomily.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't give him grief about his job, but…" Ron shook his head. "I haven't stood up for him either. It's just hard, being in the middle—"

Just then, there was a tapping noise as Hedwig the owl landed on the windowsill. Ron rushed to let her in and didn't even allow the poor bird to land before grabbing the parchment off her foot. Ginny watched Ron's eyes scan the letter as she reached out to stroke Hedwig.

"He's in St Mungo's," he said at last, throwing the letter down and pushing back from the table.

Ginny stood up at once. "Is it serious?"

He pulled out his wand. "Doesn't sound like it. Look, don't tell Mum, all right? She'll go mental."

"Ron—"

"I'll let you know as soon as I know something." And he was gone with a _pop_.

Ginny stood there in the middle of the kitchen, her heart pounding as the sunlight poured through the window onto the table, illuminating both the letter and the article. Ginny snatched up the parchment and scanned it. Harry was very brief and very vague, but the letter didn't read as though someone badly injured or very ill had written it. At least that was something. Closing her eyes, she set it down and rubbed at her temples. There was a headache brewing, she could feel it.

After letting an anxious-looking Hedwig out the window, Ginny made sure the letter and paper had burned to a crisp in the fireplace before trudging upstairs to her bedroom. There was more than enough fatigue in her system to allow her a sleep, however, she spent a restless hour trying to empty her mind of the thoughts that kept assaulting it. When she finally did fall under, it wasn't very peaceful at all.

"It's okay, Harry… Dumbledore is on his way, I've just sent for him."

Harry's shoulder jerked. It could have been a result of the pain or just a move to make it known that he had heard her. But Ginny knew there was a touch of humor in that movement as if what she'd said was amusing. It filled her with a very dark and very cold feeling.

"I know there's probably nothing he can do for the pain," she whispered. "But… well, perhaps something…"

Harry didn't respond, but Ginny knew that he'd heard her – every sound louder than a minute whisper was probably equivalent to that of a siren in his head.

So, she didn't say anything more. She became aware that her hand was on his back and though there hadn't been a clear thought in her head when she'd put it there, the contact suddenly became real. She didn't move it – he didn't seem to notice and maybe, just maybe, it was a small source of comfort. Maybe.

He was seated on a snow-covered bench in the freezing dead of winter. His upper body was bent so low that Ginny feared he would simply fall headfirst into the thick layer of snow that covered the ground. His breathing was short and shallow and each one seemed to cost him.

Ginny's own breath was laden with shivers, not only from the cold, but also from a dreaded, anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach that was beginning to make her quiver.

And then, through the snow that had begun to fall only moments after she'd set out on what was supposed to have been a leisurely walk, Ginny saw two figures. They were running directly towards herself and Harry and as they neared, she recognized them. While seeing those faces in a crisis had always made her feel safe, the only feeling Ginny could muster was a sense of relief that she wouldn't be alone with him anymore. She felt more than inadequate here.

"Miss Weasley? What happened?" barked the voice of Professor McGonagall.

"I was out for a walk … Harry was sitting here and he…"

"My scar."

They all turned at the sound of his voice. Harry had lifted his head; his eyes were unfocused without the shield of his glasses, but they gazed past Ginny, past Professor McGonagall and right into the eyes of the headmaster.

"He's happy," Harry said in a voice that sent chills down Ginny's spine.

She turned her face towards the tree a few yards away, unable to look at him. For no matter how exhausted and red-rimmed Harry's eyes were, there was no ignoring the anger, the resolve, the violence in the piercing green. It made her absolutely terrified.

Harry straightened, causing Ginny's hand to slide from his back. She brought it around her front to clutch the other. It must have subsided a little, the pain in his scar, because he sat up fully and his breathing was now completely controlled. Too controlled.

Ginny stood and walked towards the tree, her booted feet crunching in the thick snow. She heard them talking in low voices while she stared at the castle and the figures running over the grounds, darting around and heaving snowballs at each other.

Feeling eyes on her, Ginny turned and saw that Professor McGonagall watching her. She nodded briefly, letting Ginny know that she was excused if she wanted to leave. Dumbledore and Harry seemed to be having a quiet conversation and Ginny knew that there was nothing else she could do here. Thankful for the reprieve, she hurried up to the castle, ducking her head against a sudden wind.

Something had told her to take a walk this afternoon…she'd thought it had to do with being locked inside all weekend with her heaps of homework. She'd thought it was because she needed some fresh air.

Biting her lip hard, Ginny turned on the path that would take her away from the students playing in the snow. She thought she could make out some faces and didn't want to be stopped by anyone.

The look in Harry's eyes remained at the forefront of her mind as she heaved the huge wooden door open and stepped into the entrance hall…and the sound of his voice echoed in her head, reporting on Voldemort's happiness as she walked quickly up to Gryffindor Tower.

Her dormitory was empty, which was a good thing because Ginny didn't think she could hold it in any longer. Yanking her bed-curtains closed, she climbed onto her four-poster and closed her eyes. Her sobs came in gasps of breath. She was crying because she was scared and even though she knew it was useless, she couldn't help but give into it.

Why did it have to be him? _Why_?

Fury welled inside her to the point of violence. She punched her pillow once, twice. She was so scared of Harry dying that she wanted to break something, hurt someone.

_Please let him live through this. Please don't let him die_…_please_…_please_….

A horrible thought came into her head just then and Ginny had to squeeze her eyes closed to rid herself of it.

_So what if he did live?_ said the voice in her head. What if he did survive this, if Voldemort was killed and the world went back to normal? Would _Harry _ever be normal? Would he be able to sleep at night? Would he ever feel safe and if he did, would he have to spend his entire life reliving every horrible moment?

She just wanted him not to hurt anymore. She wanted it to be over with, to end, no more Voldemort or Deatheaters, no more darkness, no more fear—

Ginny awoke at once. Her heart was pounding and her entire body was drenched in sweat. For a moment, fresh fear gripped her throat… then it began to subside slowly, bit by bit, as she breathed. Her bedroom was dark. The moonlight that shined into the room through the window made her disoriented. For a few moments, she didn't know which day it was … or which year.

She pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to clear the fog that was floating around in her head. Motionless, she lay back against her pillow, breathing heavily and staring up at the dark ceiling of her bedroom. Her limbs felt stiff and her mouth was dry. She remembered that she'd gone to bed in the afternoon and now… it must be the middle of the night. After several long, still minutes, she forced herself to move the covers that were tangled around her legs and climb from the bed. She stumbled into the loo where she stood in the shower for what seemed like an eternity. As the water streamed over her body, her mind began to clear.

She had gone to bed in the afternoon because she'd been awake preparing for the grand opening of the shop, which was… tomorrow morning. She breathed a small sigh as she stepped out and wrapped a towel around herself. Part of her wished that the opening wasn't so soon…it seemed a bit shallow to have to focus on that tomorrow.

Because she wasn't the least bit tired, Ginny dressed in a comfortable sweater and jeans rather than nightclothes and trudged downstairs to see if there'd been any word from Ron. She expected to find a letter, but to her surprise, when she stepped into the kitchen, there was an actual person.

"Hi, Dad," she said, startled to see him there. "What are you…" Then she saw the clock in the living room, which read half past nine. It wasn't nearly as late as she'd thought it was.

"Worked late," he said, pulling out a chair for her with one hand, while the other used a fork to spear a piece of broccoli on his plate. "I heard you had a long day."

"Who told you?" she asked, pulling the bowl of steamed vegetables towards her. She realized that she was very hungry.

"I saw Ron earlier."

"Oh – at St. Mungo's? Did you see Harry, is he alright?"

"No, I saw Ron at the Ministry—he'd just come from St. Mungo's. Harry's fine, they've patched him up, but he has to stay the night for observation."

"Was he badly hurt?"

Her dad rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. "No. He caught the short end of a few hexes, but nothing serious."

"Oh… well, thank goodness for that, then. Has there been any word on…" She'd been about to say the Forthwrights, but realized that it was a stupid question. Her father seemed to understand though.

"William and his wife are doing as good as can be expected. Or so I've heard."

"Did you know them, Dad?"

Her father sighed and placed his napkin next to his plate, smoothing out the creases in an absentminded gesture as he thought. "William was an acquaintance. I didn't know him very well, but he often brought his son to visit. Devon was an only child…"

They lapsed in silence then and Ginny was sure she knew what her father was feeling. Guilt, perhaps for being so lucky with his family... and a keen sense of understanding as well.

"Where's Mum?" Ginny asked then, wanting to change the tone of things.

"Asleep… I think she had a bit of a long day. Worrying over Harry and all that."

"Ron must have told her, then. Where is he, do you know?"

"The last I heard, he and Hermione were going to stop by St. Mungo's and then have a late dinner somewhere."

Ginny nodded and they lapsed into another silence.

"Well," Arthur said, wiping his mouth on a napkin and pushing back his chair. "I'm going to bed. Big day tomorrow, eh?" His smile was bright but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yeah," Ginny said, managing a smile of her own. "Good night, Dad."

"Good night," he said, squeezing her shoulder as he passed. He held on just a second longer than he might have any other night before disappearing upstairs.

Ginny sighed and laid her head onto her arms. She sat quietly, listening to the noises of the house: the clock ticking from the living room, the creeks from the attic, and the wind against the windowpane. Without any warning, a chill raced down her back. It was small and just a twinge of the feeling she'd felt from her dream, but it represented something familiar. She shivered and hugged herself, sitting back in the chair now and gazing out the window.

She knew she was safe, but it was frightening that her life hadn't always been so secure. Ginny thought about those dark times and, though she remembered the fear very well, she remembered action and determination and… bravery. And when faced with the decision to fight or be safe, she remembered how clear the answer had always been. How many risks had they all taken? How many times had they been close to death and how many times had they saved each other?

Harry came into her mind then and a flood of memories surrounded him. She could hear his voice in each one, feel his protection as if it was palpable.

How many times had he saved her life?

A bout of guilt assaulted Ginny. She stood abruptly and walked into the living room. But the dark and silent room did nothing to help the apprehension that was squirming around inside her.

Ginny didn't know why these questions were at the forefront of her mind now, or why she was feeling the presence of the war so vividly. The nightmare? She tried to remember exactly what she had dreamt, but she couldn't conjure a physical picture of it in her mind. All that remained was the feelings and those she recognized.

She hated times like these… when something tragic happened and there was nowhere to go but back in time.

Her eyes fell on the clock again. It was almost ten. She knew it was too late to go, but something made her think she could try. She went upstairs and retrieved her wand from between her bedcovers and gave it a twist to Apparate.

St. Mungo's waiting area was quite empty when she stepped inside from the street. There were four people seated in the rows of uncomfortable-looking chairs: two small children sat on either side of an irate-looking witch, all three of their faces the color of an orange and an elderly wizard across the room eyed them disdainfully, sneezing a continuous flutter of lady bugs into a bin.

Ginny walked across the wide floor and approached the sleepy-looking welcomewitch at the main desk. Dropping her voice to a whisper, Ginny leaned forward a bit and said, "Hi, I'm here to visit Harry Potter."

The witch gave Ginny a complacent look. "Harry Potter is not a patient here, sorry."

If Ginny hadn't been in such a strange mood, she would have returned the witch's smug smile. Instead, she straightened the handbag on her shoulder and said calmly, "I know he's a patient here, I'm a friend of his. If you can tell him that Ginny Weasley is here to see him, I'm sure he'll say it's all right."

The witch didn't look impressed. "I'm sorry, but we do not have a patient here by that name. Also, our visiting hours are—"

"I know. Over. But if you can see if he's awake and ask him, that would be great. If he's asleep, I'll leave, but if not…I'm sure he'll be glad for the company," Ginny lied, sure that he probably wouldn't be.

The witch looked at Ginny for a long moment, as if contemplating doing what Ginny suggested or calling for security.

"Look, my brother Ron Weasley was just here, you'll probably see his name on the list. He was here with Hermione Granger."

With a suspicious crease in her brow, the witch began tapping her long fingernails at a gilded keyboard, watching as tiny words appeared in mid-air, disappearing faster than Ginny could read them.

"One moment, please," she said, her eyes level with the space in front of her. A moment later, more words began to appear and disappear there and Ginny saw her lift a brow. She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small piece of parchement, and began to write something on it. "There you are, miss."

Ginny took the paper, frowning at the words on it. It read _Floor Five, room 599_. The fifth floor was the gift shop level and though Ginny was certain that there were probably rooms hidden for… particular patients, she had no idea where to find them. It took a bit of creativity and the help of an elderly custodian before she finally walked through a tapestry, leading her to a very hidden corridor with doors packed on either side. Room 599 was at the very end, and Ginny walked down, stamping her curiosity to peek inside the open doors to see if the rooms contained anyone famous.

Harry's door was closed, so she tapped her knuckles against it lightly, and pushed through when she heard his muffled reply. It was a small room, but much bigger than it seemed from the corridor where another door stood just a few feet away. The only light came from a candle on the table next to the bed and the tiny dots of gold from the city in the window. Everything from the brass handles on the bed to the linoleum floor glinted from the shadows cast by the flickering candlelight and shined from cleanliness.

Harry was sitting at a small table beside the window, peering towards the doorway where she stood. He looked weary and a bit pale, but there wasn't anything horrid about his appearance. Ginny didn't know if she'd expected him to look sick or injured, but he looked fine… just very tired.

"Hi," she said, stepping hesitantly inside. "I hope you don't mind that I came I just…." Because he looked curious and not put out, Ginny continued honestly, "Harry, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about what happened. I know… how hard you've been working and …well, I'm sorry."

Harry held her gaze for a minute, looking unsure if she was finished or not. "Thanks." There was a pause before he said, "D'you want to sit down?" He gestured to an armchair that was opposite his and Ginny hesitated.

"Oh… well, I didn't plan to stay, I know you're probably tired."

"I am. But I'm not going to sleep, so.…"

Something about the way he'd said it made Ginny pause only momentarily before nodding and crossing the room to join him at the table. "What's that?" she asked, indicating the steaming goblet in front of him.

Harry looked at it with a bit of an ironic look on his face. "Sleeping Draught."

"You don't want to take it?"

"I already did," he said, lifting it to show it was empty. Ginny took it from him and put it to her nose, then gasped at the wave of drowsiness that absorbed into her senses from only breathing in the scent.

"That's a strong one, isn't it?" she asked, setting it back down as the sleepy feeling began to ebb away. "Did you just take it?"

"About twenty minutes ago."

Ginny gaped at him. "And you haven't passed out yet?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on his face and the sarcasm in it wasn't lost on Ginny. "I'm a bit immune to those things."

She said nothing for a moment as she regarded him. His eyes, though red-rimmed and surrounded by dark circles, were alert; his fingers tapped lightly, but impatiently, against the surface of the table. Someone who looked so tired shouldn't seem this restless, she thought, and didn't hesitated before asking him,

"Do you often have trouble sleeping, Harry?"

He looked at Ginny for a moment, and turned his head towards the window, taking a slow breath. Then, still gazing out at the city below them, he nodded his head.

Ginny suddenly thought of the difficult time she'd had trying to fall asleep this afternoon. The horrible images of that boy being killed had been such a strong shield against sleep and when fatigue finally had claimed her, the haunted dreams had taken over. For Harry, having that boy's kidnapping at the forefront of his mind for several months meant more sleepless, haunted nights than Ginny wanted to imagine. And that was only one case, one example of the dark things he dealt with at work.

"There has to be… something," she said thoughtfully, "some way to help insomnia without potions or magic…."

"Firewhisky."

Ginny's eyebrows shot up, remembering that evening in The Three Broomsticks. "It really works, does it?"

Harry heaved a sigh. "Yeah. But it's not so fun in the morning."

She smiled. "Have you talked to anyone about it? One of the healers here might—"

He gestured to the goblet. "Talked to dozens of them. They keep giving me stronger stuff and I keep taking it until it doesn't work."

Ginny frowned. She had a few suggestions of different types of Sleeping Draughts that she remembered, but reasoned that they were probably old news to him.

"I suppose you just have to keep trying," she said at last. "Horrible that you have to suffer until you find the solution."

Harry arched his brow and muttered faintly that he didn't think there was a solution. Ginny looked down at the table, feeling a wave of déjà vu wash over her. Something in the tone of his voice …it was all so familiar to her. She cleared her throat.

"Did you have many visitors today, then?"

"Just Ron and Hermione… and some of the people who were working on the case. Your mum sent me food, of course."

Ginny smiled at that. "It's her way, isn't it? Did Hermione walk in with her tail between her legs?" she'd asked with a bit of a humorous tone, but Harry's eyes turned inward.

"She… yeah, she did."

"You feel guilty about her, don't you?" Ginny asked, looking at him closely.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "She was really ashamed. I never wanted that. I don't want…."

"You don't want your work to affect them?"

"It's not just that. It's horrible to say, but I see this sort of thing – not _very_ often, but enough, so they don't have to feel sorry for me when something like this happens… I mean, if only she would stop giving me grief about everything, then she wouldn't feel guilty and…"

"It's like … she creates the guilt for herself sometimes?"

"Yeah," he said, looking relieved. "But she means well, so it's …it's not like she deserves feeling so terrible. I don't want her to feel like that…it's just…"

Ginny smiled as he failed to get his tongue around the words. "I think you might need a holiday, Harry."

He managed a week smile. "I just had a holiday."

"When?"

"Paris."

"I though your were working there."

"Well, it was actually a bit of a break," he admitted, giving into a yawn. "And not an approved one."

"Those meetings you talked about and the auror's convention…?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't need to go to those meetings … or the convention, really," he said, his voice thick from yawning. "I thought being away might help with the insomnia thing, but I really wasn't supposed to go to Paris. I sort of… snuck away after we'd finished a three-month project overseas."

"That's right," Ginny said, recalling the letter she'd received from her mum in Paris. "I forgot about that. Mum had told me in her letter that you'd been gone almost three months."

"Yeah… that was a top secret thing. It was… really stressful and I didn't feel like going home afterwards, so I went to a stupid convention in Paris."

"And you didn't write home…" she said, almost to herself. She couldn't tell if Harry heard her or not since he'd taken off his glasses and was cleaning them on his shirt. But Ginny was remembering everything now… everything that her mum had written to her and everything that she and Harry had fought about in Paris.

"So, you left for a job that took three months... and when you arrived in Paris, were you able to write home?"

Harry looked up at her. His glasses were off and his green eyes were watery and drowsy, but very focused on her. "Yes."

She sighed. "Then why didn't you? I mean, just to tell them that you were all right—it's understandable that you would need a break, isn't it? Especially after a case that lasted for months like that one and… hang on." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I'm doing it again, aren't I? Sticking my nose into your business where it doesn't belong."

He half shrugged. "S'okay. Anyway, if I had written home, I would have received howlers in return."

"I don't think that's true," Ginny said. "I fail to think that they would blame you for leaving without notice if you had no choice."

"They wouldn't. But they would blame my job, Ginny. They would think I… chose it over them or something. I didn't need for them to make me guilty about what I do for a bloody living so I prolonged writing to them."

Ginny started to say something, but the truth was that she didn't know what to say. Having a job like Harry's where he spent so much of his time and energy, where he had to disappear without notice and be away for so long… it wasn't easy on the people who cared about him. But it couldn't be easy on him either. And if it wasn't so very important to him, if it didn't define who he was, then Ginny might think he _should_ put his family first.

But then again… his family was Ron and Hermione, who were about to be married, who were about to become one unit, one family by themselves. What sort of family did Harry have to himself? Why should he put asside his job, his obligations for them? They loved him, sure and they were the only real family that he had, but his place in life was not with them.

"Anyway, I suppose that was why I was a bit … strange in Paris," he was saying. "It was a difficult job that I'd come from and I knew that I wasn't supposed to be there and, well…"

Ginny sighed, trying not to let her thoughts run away with her. "I was also pretty stressed when you were there," she said slowly. "I suppose we both had a lot on our minds."

Harry nodded. It was an apology, on both their parts, for something Ginny had forced herself to forget about. Some of the things they had said to each other in Paris began to resurface in her mind. There had been quite a bit to that little row, hadn't there?

"Do you… miss it there?"

Harry's voice cut through her thoughts and Ginny suddenly realized that she was staring out the window in silence.

"Paris?" she asked him and he nodded. "Yes, I do. I've been keeping busy, so I don't really think about it much, but I do miss my friends and the city and university…."

"And homework?" he smiled.

"No, I don't miss homework," she laughed, "but... the lessons, the professors, well _some_ professors. Others I'll gladly never see again."

"Really?" he asked, looking mildly interested. "Worse than certain Potions professors?"

"Oh, definitely not," she grinned. "But there were some winners, I'll say that." Because he appeared slightly interested in keeping up the conversation, Ginny told him a few stories about several professors she'd had the fortune to encounter at university. He listened to her with the sort of interest of someone who needed something to help time pass and Ginny felt rather sorry that he had to resort to listening to tales that were probably quite boring to someone who hadn't experienced them.

"I think I still have nightmares about her," she admitted after she'd told him about her Mermish professor, Madame Horne. "People used to cry when her little timer would go off, signaling the end of the exam. Brian liked her—well, any wizard in the lesson liked her, for … well, slightly shallow reasons."

Harry grinned tiredly. "I think I understand."

"Yeah…and she _favored_ boys over girls, so that only gave them more encouragement. Though Brian never needed any encouragement for that," she added dryly.

Ginny chatted a bit more about Paris and the things she missed and Harry seemed all too happy to listen as he grew more tired. Finally, Ginny couldn't think of any more stories that would be even remotely entertaining, so she changed the subject.

"Do you think you'll be able to go home tomorrow? Have the healers said anything about it?"

"I'm leaving even if they say I can't," he said irritably. "I don't even need to be here right now, it's auror protocol to stay and all that, but it's stupid. I don't have anything wrong with me."

"I suppose you would be more comfortable in your own house, in any event. Was anyone else injured?"

He nodded. "Nothing serious, same as me. It was an ugly fight, though…" he said distantly.

Ginny looked down at the table. She had many questions, but she didn't want to force him to recall the last twenty-four hours for any reason.

"He recognized me," Harry muttered, rubbing his tired eyes beneath his glasses. "When I came in, he saw me and … and he thought I was going to save him. He looked at me like I … I was his hero or something…." He swallowed as if he had suddenly acquired a bad taste in his mouth. "Me."

Ginny watched him take a long sip of water from the glass on the table. "So he was… happy, then. For just a moment."

"For just a moment," he echoed. Then he nodded, and took another sip. "So, er… how is that shop thing of yours coming along?" he asked, and Ginny took his cue without hesitation. She told him about all of it, the grand opening tomorrow, what they had done to get to this point, and what they projected in sales. It was simple, the opening of a little shop, compared to the sort of things he accomplished day to day. Ginny didn't mind using it at all - it was probably a nice escape for Harry.

"What's it called, again?" he asked, taking a sip of water.

Ginny grimaced. "Lotion Lady. Don't ask, it was a very … last minute decision. I really don't like it."

"Are … _you_ the Lotion Lady?" he asked, with a tiny glint of humor in his eyes.

"Actually it's Sarah. Sarah is the Lotion Lady. I'm … the other lady. I don't know, it's going to take a while to grow on me."

"Could be worse," he said on another huge yawn, which caused his eyes to water up, which caused his glasses to fog. He made a noise of frustration then and took off his glasses again to wipe at his eyes. Then, yet another yawn assaulted him. "Bloody exhausted, but can't sleep," he said in sudden frustration. He grabbed a tissue from a box on the table and blew his nose – loudly – and tossed it in the bin. "How stupid is that, I'd like to know?"

An inexplicable feeling of sorrow shot through her. Ginny would challenge anyone in the world to see him as she did right now and not want to help him.

"You know," she began, not knowing what she was going to say, but vowing to stay here talking until he was tired enough for sleep, "if Paris was like a holiday, then you should have said something. We could have seen more than we did, like… the Louvre. I've been there a few times, but there's a huge section of the magical part that I haven't seen, not to mention half of the Muggle part."

There was a long pause where Harry stared down at the table with a bit of a dull expression on his face. She knew he was tempted to end this conversation and he could have rightfully done so by saying he wanted to go to bed. It would have been a lie, and they both would have known it, but she would have left regardless. She watched him struggle with it for a moment.

"I… heard it's really crowded in there," he said after a moment.

"It is," she said at once, and elaborated fully on the subject, if only to delay his bedtime even further. "I've always thought how cool it would be to go inside at night, you know, after closing? I mean during the day the people are packed in there like sardines, but to go through it all with nobody else in there and see all the paintings and the sculptures and …."

It was almost one o'clock in the morning when Ginny left St. Mungo's. She walked across the waiting area with a heavier heart than when she'd first arrived, not even noticing the arched brow from the welcomewitch as she watched Ginny leave.

Sarah, in her ever-nervous state, also had a nightmare before the grand opening. In it, the only customer that came into the shop was a person they knew quite well and she wasted no time telling Ginny and Sarah how disappointed she was with the career path they'd chosen and requested a product that Sarah refused to repeat.

"That's what made it a nightmare," she shuddered.

"Who's McGonagall?" asked Brian.

"One bitch of a witch," said Rosemary, grinning.

"Professor McGonagall is the most brilliant witch of our time," Sarah said firmly, frowning at her cousin. "Just…slightly scary at times."

"Hey, I was complimenting her!" Rosemary insisted.

Rosemary, it turned out, had changed quite a bit over the years. No longer was she the mousy girl with pigtails Ginny remembered, but nearly a whole foot taller than her cousin with a rather exuberant style of dress. Her brown-turned-black hair and purple lipstick clashed startlingly with her pale skin and if Ginny hadn't asked her to wear Lotion Lady's colors for work then she would most definitely be sporting her ankle-length, chain-clad black robes.

Everyone was scattered throughout the shop, waiting for the clock to chime so that they could open the doors. Fred and George were going to stay behind the scenes, getting more product if needed. Ginny and Sarah were going to work on the floor, assisting customers with products and Rosemary would mind the till. Brian was quite useless, but he had brought breakfast, which Ginny's nervous stomach hadn't allowed her to eat.

Ginny tried to reassure Sarah that McGonagall wouldn't be disappointed in them at all – that owning a shop was very prestigious and look at how often she visited Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes!

Sarah sniffed. "That's only because she thinks Fred and George are devising a quill that looks like her anti-cheating ones."

Fred and George looked startled. "How d'you know that?"

"She told me," Sarah said, her brow still drawn from worry. "She's onto your Forging Quills, too, so you had better watch out."

If there hadn't only been ten minutes until they opened, Ginny would have found it amusing how a half-hearted warning from someone as harmless as Sarah could cause such alarm on the faces of her brothers. But she had one thing on her mind and that was the shop.

They started off a bit slow. Ginny had to bite hard on her lip to keep from laughing at Sarah when the bells over the doors jingled and McGonagall herself walked in. She peered at Brian in a scrupulous sort of way (he straightened his back), said to Rosemary in her clipped tone, "Miss Shawnessy", and congratulated Ginny and Sarah on their wonderful new business (Ginny stood on Sarah's foot). Then she said something about needing a Christmas gift and walked brusquely towards the anti-wrinkle section.

"Christmas gift my arse," Rosemary muttered with a wink and Sarah sent her a warning look.

Other people trickled in, mostly friends and relatives to congratulate and support them. Sarah voiced her worry that they were fast running out of friends and Ginny shushed her, but secretly thought the same.

By lunchtime, however, all was chaos. Ginny had to enlist Brian to help at one of the tills, direct Fred and George to bring more stock from the basement and even beg Bill to stay for an hour to cover Rosemary's lunch. Customers piled in, purchasing more in one sale than Ginny thought would sell all day… even week! People from all ages roamed the shop, stuffing as many products as they could into their wicker shopping baskets, some needing two or three baskets just to carry everything around.

At one point, Ginny thought that she might still be asleep and having another dream, this one being really good to make up for the nightmare, but when she banged her hip against the counter as Brian carelessly bumped into her, the pain was very real and made her realize that it was no dream. It was all real. And it was a success.

At least for the moment.

"Hey, Ginny, where's Ron?" called Dean Thomas with an armful of rose-scented products

"Not sure, he and Hermione were supposed to come." Then her lips quirked at the products in his hands. "Buying a gift?"

"My Mum for Christmas – she loves Sarah's stuff, she's tried it before—"

He was cut off by a crashing noise and Ginny looked across the aisle just in time to see a shelf of foot cream crash to the floor and a guilty looking young girl dive for her mother.

"Oh, no – have to run – thanks, Dean!"

By the time it was over, Ginny felt as though she'd pulled a double shift at the café—alone because Aurelie had skived off. The thought of her friend made Ginny smile as she, Sarah and Rosemary cleaned up the mess that was left. Fred and George left to close down each joke shop and Brian had gone a few hours ago. It occurred to Ginny that she hadn't even thanked them for all their hard work… she hadn't thanked Bill either for covering for Rosemary or Emma for sending over a carton of butterbeer for everyone. In fact, Ginny had a long list of people to thank… except for Ron and Hermione. She frowned and wondered if everything was okay with the two of them – Hermione had promised that they would come.

Clean-up took just over an hour and after bidding farewell to Sarah and Rosemary, with promises of bright and early the next morning, Ginny Apparated home. She'd gone right into the kitchen, where she thought her mum and dad would be waiting to see how everything went. But the kitchen was quite empty and voices—rather loud voices—could be heard coming from the living room.

"I just don't understand why you can't get married before you go," her Mum was saying. "We can have something small instead, something—"

"There's no time, Mum," Ron interrupted impatiently. "Hermione can't even think about the wedding right now, she's going to be working non-stop until we go—"

"Go where?" Ginny asked and everyone looked at her in a startled sort of way. "What's going on?"

"Never you mind," her mother said sternly, as though she didn't want Ginny to get any ideas about doing whatever Ron was.

"Now, Molly," Arthur said from his position in his armchair. "There's no need to snap at Ginny. Look, I think we've exhausted this conversation, let's leave Ron to fill Ginny in and—"

"I'm sorry, Arthur, I just can't see how you can be okay with this. They're not _married_, it's not _right_—"

"He's an adult, he's been of age for years, he can do whatever he wants—"

"He is still living in my house!" Molly said angrily.

"Not anymore," yelled Ron and stormed up the stairs, taking two at a time. The house rattled as his bedroom door slammed closed.

Ginny looked at her parents in surprise. Her mum's lips were thin as she stood and retreated into the kitchen; her father gave her a small smile. "Ron will fill you in, why don't you go on up?"

She didn't need telling twice. She rapped on Ron's door loudly before pushing it open. The site that met Ginny caused her mouth to drop. For as long as she could remember, Ron's room had not changed in the least. The Chudley Cannons and the orange and the comics and the old Quidditch equipment thrown around haphazardly had always been the site that greeted her. Now, however, it looked as though a handful of pixies had been thrown into the room and left to their own devices. There were clothes everywhere, bedding piled in a corner, posters hanging off the walls, and Ron's open trunk in the middle of it all.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

Ron puffed out a disgruntled sigh.

"Africa."

He explained nothing more, but began yanking drawers open and pulling out even more clothing.

Ginny opened her mouth but nothing came out for a moment. "Erm… can I ask why?"

"Hermione's been transferred there," he tossed a shirt over his shoulder into the trunk. "And I'm going with her."

"When did this happen?" .

"Today. They just told her and she has to bloody leave next week."

"For…ever?" she asked, sinking down onto his cluttered bed and watching her brother wreak havoc on his room.

He blew out a breath and tried to push the piles of clothes further down into his trunk. "No… yes… I don't know. It's not permanent, but we'll have to wait until, you know, or at least—"

"Hold on," Ginny said, putting a hand out. "You are not making any sense, can you explain this to me properly, please? How did Hermione get transferred? Is it a promotion? And why is mum going mental?"

Ron made a noise of frustration, kicked his trunk and started taking everything out of it.

"Oh for the love of—" Ginny took out her wand and used it to close the trunk. Ron sent her a furious look and tried to open it, only to realize it was locked.

"GINNY!" he yelled and reached for his wand on his shelf, but Ginny was too fast.

"If you want it back," she said, holding it up, "then you have to talk. Coherently."

He made another, much louder noise of frustration, kicked the trunk even harder and all but fell onto his bed.

From his jumbled explanation, Ginny gathered that the funding for Hermione's Muggle remedies research was to be tripled in the new year, giving the project the opportunity to expand to other countries. Hermione had been asked to go to Africa where she would be part of a team to help treat a widespread Muggle disease with the medications they'd been formulating. Ginny didn't need Ron to say that this was an extraordinary opportunity for Hermione – it seemed like a tremendous breakthrough in Wizard-Muggle Relations—not to mention the help it would give to the disease.

"That's amazing!" she exclaimed. "Of course she has to go—"

"Yeah, try telling mum that."

"Why doesn't she want—"

"Well, it's me she has a problem with. She thinks it's 'not proper' if I go because space is limited and we'll have to live together."

"Oh, she's so old-_fa_shioned!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Yeah, and I'm not letting her go alone, so mum can forget it. Some of the areas over there aren't very safe and all that."

Ginny nodded fervently, managing a straight face. If Hermione were here, Ron would certainly not get away with saying he wasn't 'letting' her do anything.

"So she wants you to push up the wedding so that you can be legally married before you go?" Ginny had to smile. "Well, that's mum, isn't it? I don't understand though, she let me live with Brian in Paris, and she didn't even know him."

Ron gave Ginny a look. "That was because you were all alone in another country, Ginny."

"Oh, come off it, Mum didn't have any problems with me going away—"

"She was bloody thrilled when you told her about Brian—er, since she knew that you were only friends, that is. Do you think she'd let you live with Brian _now_?"

"Well—"

No," he answered for her. "Trust me, she's still mental about it, it's like she tries to control us for as long as she can—because soon, she won't be able to control _any_ of her children anymore!"

"I don't think that's true—she only wants the best for us, Ron. She'll give you her blessing, I know she will."

"Probably not—I don't bloody care anyway—"

"Yes, you do care. And yes, she will – dad will talk to her."

Ron nodded and looked around the room miserably, running a hand through his bright hair. "Hermione will kill me when she sees this mess. She told me to pack efficiently for once in my life."

"Some things never change, doesn't she know that? "

"Hey—the grand opening!" he said so loudly, his mirror shook. "How did it—"

"Fantastic, we sold triple what Fred and George projected. But, anyway—"

"Wicked, so can you give me some for Hermione for Christmas?"

"Yeah, sure, but I was going to ask what you're going to do with your job at the Ministry? Will you quit or—"

"Extended leave of absence," he said. Then he grinned. "My woman will support me until we get back."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You talk really bravely when she's not around."

"Whatever… look… help me, will you?"

"I suppose," she sighed, tossing him his wand so he could open the trunk. "Here, don't do anything." She waved her own wand and everything flew into the trunk in neat, folded piles. "Is that all you have?"

Ron looked at her in amazement. "That was good!"

"I've had practice," she grinned, then a wave of sadness washed over her. "I can't believe that you two are leaving. I've only been back for a few months and…things are already changing…" She watched the team members in a Cannon's poster duck as Ron sent a shirt zooming past it into his trunk; the poster fell sideways on the wall and the players toppled onto one another.

"Oh, don't cast the water spells, okay? Between you and Hermione, I can't bloody take it!"

"I won't," she promised. "So… are you nervous? About going away and all? I can give you some pointers, you know, if you start missing the family too much," she joked.

"Not nervous, just…" he sighed in frustration again when he opened a drawer and found it full. "Just stressed."

"Once you get there, things will be fine," she said, pushing him out of the way and tapping the drawer with her wand, so that its contents dispeared and reappeared in his trunk. "You can always let us know if you've missed anything and we'll send it along."

"Yeah," he said distractedly. There was a knock at the door then and Hermione's head poked through. "Hi, you two. Oh, dear, look at this mess."

"Right, it's not my fault that I'm a slob, so just lay off, will you?" Ron exclaimed loudly, clearly exemplifying the stress level he'd been speaking of by overreacting to Hermione's feeble comment.

To Ginny's surprise, Hermione ignored his shout as she stepped inside, looking around the room with sad eyes. "I take it you know?" she asked Ginny.

Ginny nodded and gave her an honest smile. "I think it's amazing, Hermione."

"Yeah," she said, taking a shaky breath. "We have to postpone the wedding until we get back. You'll be here, right?" There was nervous look in Hermione's eyes now as she peered at Ginny, almost as though she wished Ginny would give her a reason not to go.

"I promise I'll be here. In whichever robes you pick for me."

Hermione grinned. "Even pink?"

"Even pink," Ginny said, grimacing. "I'll clash horribly if you really want me to."

"Oh, nonsense, I wouldn't dream of it," Hermione said, her voice cracking.

"Please, not again," Ron said weakly.

"Okay, okay," Hermione said brusquely. "Are you ready?"

Ron nodded.

"Where are you going?" Ginny asked, standing up from the bed, careful not to step on anything.

"We have to tell Harry," Hermione said in a bit of a strained voice.

It was as if all the breath went out of Ginny. She met Hermione's eyes and the guilt in them was evident. A comment rose in Ginny's mind, but she didn't voice it, didn't think it was fair. But she couldn't help but think of the hypocracy of Hermione's job pulling her away from Harry… especially now, when things weren't exactly going great for him.

After saying goodnight to Hermione and Ron, Ginny opened the door to her bedroom and slipped inside. It was dark and for a moment, her body froze as an even darker feeling swept over her. It was gone in an instant, and she wouldn't be able to get it back even if she wanted to, but she knew where it came from. It was her nightmare coming back, just a twinge of the feelings from the dream.

She undressed slowly, not very tired, but knowing that she had to get back on schedule with sleep.

Sleep.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment and thought of Harry. A part of her wanted to race after Ron and Hermione, tell them not to see Harry now, before bedtime. She knew there would be little sleep for him tonight regardless of their visit, but…it would be easier if he didn't have to know now, on top of everything else, that they were leaving.

"Damn," Ginny whispered to the darkened room.

It was a long time before she fell asleep.

Chapter Eleven

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	12. Chapter Eleven

**Title**: "Seeking Ginny"

**Author**: Casca

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

**A/N**: Okay… let's get down to it. When I created my Ginny, she was virtually unknown to any of us in canon. She took on a life of her own and basically wrote her own story, with me along for the ride. When HBP came out, Ginny's character became fleshed-out and her personality flourished. She was a bit different from my Ginny and I loved her, thus I decided to revamp the old chapters to keep Ginny in character with canon – and by doing so, my story had to change.

I stopped revamping long ago. I've stopped editing. Seeking Ginny from here on out will be entirely new content, entirely different to the story I had been telling. It's a "new" version and it has the best aspects of every version I had come up with before I started writing this fic. I know this may seem frustrating to the people who thought there was nothing wrong with the story in the first place… but there was. It is very difficult to write something that you are not inspired by…and it's hard for me not to try and make it as in-character as I can. By changing the story around I've turned it into something fresh, more profound, with more pain and angst and less fluff than before. Changing it has kept me going, kept me inspired. I really, really, really hope you like it.

Thanks to Emmyjean for kicking my arse into gear and for actually writing part of this chapter. Without her it would still be a pile of crap sitting on my desktop.

**This chapter has been rewritten as of September 2006.**

Chapter Eleven

"Fallen"

During the month of December, there did not appear to be time for the employees of Lotion Lady to take even the shortest of breaks. Nor was there time to have a glass of water… or take a much-needed trip to the loo… or stop working at all for even the tiniest of seconds. The mob of customers inhabiting the space had one thing in common: they wanted to finish their Christmas shopping and they wanted to finish as soon as was wizardly possible. Or even faster, if they could manage. And there were exactly three people buzzing about the little shop, festive holly adorning their hair, with the authority to help them.

There was Sarah, who they had all come to discover did not have it in her nature to serve the public. She would rather spend hours helping one customer find the perfect product than help a succession of people in a row. From the glimpses Ginny had of Sarah during the many December hours spent inside the shop, the former Hufflepuff remained stressed and completely over-whelmed at the pace needed to work the holiday crowd.

Rosemary did not appear to be stressed at all. It quickly became apparent that she was quite the laid-back individual, who didn't allow things like thirty-eight customers needing help at the same time bother her. Working steadily, as though she didn't have a care in the world, she rolled her eyes at her besieged cousin and continued her job without worry at all.

Though Ginny did not consider herself as laid-back as Rosemary, or quite as obsessed as Sarah, she had something that they both lacked and that was the ability to thrive in a fast-paced environment. Having worked in a café as trendy as Le Papillon, she knew how to work efficiently at the pace needed to serve a holiday rush. Though the customers were packed in like sardines and the work was slightly different than serving food and drink, Ginny found herself on completely familiar ground as she rushed to serve as many people as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mrs. Bradshaw, it looks like we're out of the lavender scent today," Ginny explained loudly, over the din, trying not to wince as a small child stepped on her foot to get to his mum. "Have you tried the strawberries and cream? Sarah puts real crushed strawberry seeds into the candle mixture to enhance the scent."

The middle-aged, earmuff-clad witch looked crestfallen. "But my aunt _specifically_ said the lavender, she thinks it calms her…well, dear, do you think you might have it tomorrow?"

"Oh, erm…" Ginny tried to peer over the heads of the massive amounts of customers to find Sarah, but as both she and Sarah happened to be rather challenged in the height department, there wasn't much hope. "Can you give me a moment, and I'll ask Sarah what time it will be available tomorrow?" she asked, and when Mrs. Bradshaw nodded her thanks, Ginny slid through the crowd, narrowly avoiding people, and hurled behind the counter.

"Where's Sarah?" she asked Rosemary, who was steadily ringing up purchases.

Rosemary snapped her gum. "Downstairs."

Ginny flung open the door to the dungeon door and clambered down.

"Sarah, are you hiding down there?"

"Of course not, I'm getting more product," came Sarah's agitated voice. It seemed that the stress of the holiday was not lost on Sarah either. "We're out of nearly all the hand and foot cream."

"That's not all we're out of," Ginny said, hopping down the last three steps. From below the shop, it sounded as though there was a stampede above them from the hoards of people moving around up there. "Are you going to have any Signature Candles in the lavender available tomorrow?"

"Yes." Sarah appeared from behind one of the tall shelves, her arms filled with product. She blew the hair out of her eyes, emptied the jumbled products into a carton at her feet, and then disappeared to get more. "They should be dried out tonight, but not before we close, so I'll stock them first thing tomorrow—WAIT!"

"What!" Ginny jumped. "What's wrong?"

"Before I forget…" Sarah appeared again, her arms filled with yet more product. "This came for you," she said, managing to retrieve a letter from her smock. "I didn't want to leave it behind the counter in case it got packaged with a purchase."

Ginny quickly opened the parchment. "Oh, it's from Brian. Writing with his tail between his legs, is he?" she asked, scanning the contents rapidly, aware that her customer was waiting upstairs. "Oh, yes, see there, he found a date last night, what did I tell you? He had two of the most sophisticated and talented witches in England waiting for him, and he abandons them for what? Some floozy. Well," she said crumpling up the parchment, "He's offered to make it up to us tonight, nine o'clock at the pub down the street. Shall we let him?"

"Er… that's fine," said Sarah distractedly. "Now where did I put that cow plant?"

"No idea, but you'd better hurry – the natives are getting restless," Ginny said, dashing upstairs to get back to her customer.

In the midst of the madness, Ginny found just enough time during her shift to scribble a response to Brian's owl, agreeing to a late dinner and send it off with Maurice. Saturday hours were shorter than weekdays and they were all grateful for it when six o'clock rolled around, signaling closing time. Ginny raced to lock the door, then rushed back to the gift wrapping table to assist the crowd that was gathered, passing Rosemary, who was hastening her pace at the till now that leaving was in sight. Sarah dashed to stand near the exit to let the trapped shoppers out.

When the last customer was gone and Sarah was able to slide the lock into place for the last time, the three girls stood in their respective places for a moment and surveyed the mess before them. Display tables were piled with mountains of merchandise, all of which had been moved from various places around the shop. Most shelves were covered in products that had been knocked into piles, others had one or two bottles left on them and many were completely empty. Shopping baskets were littered everywhere, some filled to the brim and left by customers who had apparently changed their minds, some with nothing in them at all. The floor was muddy from the hundreds of shoes that had walked across it, the shelves were foamy from spilled soap, and the fireplace was sooty from floo powder.

It looked the same as it had every night that week after closing and Ginny had the same thought she'd had every night, which was that they would never, ever get the place straightened out. But like every night, at once, they began to move towards the mess and slowly but surely, Lotion Lady began to transform from a hurricane disaster area to a place of business. With the three of them working diligently, casting the proper charms, floating more product to fill the empty slots and rearranging display tables, they managed to work rather efficiently.

Ginny was just finishing up a complex table display which was artfully arranged with Sarah's new perfume line, when the door to the dungeon opened up and Sarah, hidden behind the enormous box she carried, emerged. Ginny stared, a bit horrified.

"What on earth is all that? I thought we were almost finished."

"We are," Sarah sighed and set the box down. "Well, you both are, in any event. These are the new therapeutic blends that I've had in development and I want to stock the ones that I've finished testing. They should make for really nice gifts, these. But you two go on ahead, I've got this."

"Fantastic!" exclaimed Rosemary, and grabbed her cloak as she ran out of the shop, giving both Ginny and Sarah a cheerful wave.

"Wha—Sarah," Ginny said, confused, rushing to the door to lock it behind Rosemary, "I thought those wouldn't be ready until after the holidays."

"Some are, so I just want to put them out and see how they sell. They really will make lovely gifts. Honestly, Ginny, go on and wind down a bit before dinner. I'll meet you at the pub at nine."

"Oh, nonsense, I'll help you. We have almost two hours before we have to meet Brian," Ginny said, walking over to the shelf on which Sarah was arranging the products. "Which are finished, then?"

"Erm… 'Breathe', 'Sleep' and 'Allergy' are the main ones, but I have some muscle relaxants and inflammation reducers that can be added to any of our skin care line," Sarah muttered, suddenly distracted by the multitude of products.

Ginny looked over Sarah's shoulder at the array of different sized bottles, some wrapped together with string, others tucked into complex-looking instructions.

"You had better give me an explanation on how they work again so that I'll be able to sell them."

Sarah sighed and again blew her fringe from her eyes. "Well some of them require instructions for use because there are multiple ways to apply them," she explained, lifting one of the packages which contained a large bottle filled with clear liquid and a much smaller container of what looked like an amber-colored mixture, attached by a hefty set of instructions. "Here's 'Sleep'. For this one you need to place four to five drops in a basic sleeping draught of which I've included a hefty portion and for the most part, that is how it's meant to be used. But you can also use _just_ the botanical oils and rub them onto your eyelids or temples for relaxation purposes. See?"

Ginny took the proffered package and scanned the label:

"A blend of botanical oils, health charms, and other ingredients to aids in bringing about a deep sleep for all those who suffer from insomnia or have trouble relaxing. Oils Used are Roman Chamomile to soothe an overactive, restless mind to induce sleep; Lavender which brings balance to the central nervous system for those who suffer from anxiety, panic, stress, and hyperactivity; Marjoram to ease the minds and bodies of those under tension and strain with a warming, calming effect; Magical Elements Used: One-tenth Cheering Charm to stimulate contentment….'"

After she was finished, Ginny let her eyes travel down the list of magical ingredients. And she wondered.

"Do they work very well?" she asked a moment later, still staring at the bottle as Sarah systematically stocked the shelf. Sarah looked up from her task and asked confusedly,

"Of course they work, Ginny, why else would I have made them?"

"I mean this one… 'Sleep'… will it really cure insomnia?"

"Well, cure is a strong word. 'Sleep' is very effective, though," Sarah said, standing and wiping her hands on her jeans. "The combination of the botanical oils nearly doubles the potency of the sleeping draught and the Cheering Charm is such a tiny one, but it makes all the difference to those whose insomnia is caused by depression. Of course it doesn't cure the _depression_, but it does help with getting sleeping patterns back on track, which is a godsend to someone who _is_ suffering from depression or just someone who might be overly stressed. But people who aren't suffering from depression can use them as well, they're not just for…"

Sarah continued with her long-winded explanation as she finished stocking the carton of products and after nearly twenty minutes, when she stepped back from the shelf to review her work, Ginny said,

"I'm going to take one of these… 'Sleep'."

Sarah looked surprised. "For yourself? Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"No, no, not for me, it's for…" She looked back down at the bottles in her hand. "Harry."

There was a pause. "Oh…oh, of course he would be quite stressed right now, wouldn't he?" Sarah asked softly.

"Yes… he said that he's immune to every sleeping draught out there by now… I just thought that this might help…d'you think it would or … should I not? I probably shouldn't?" She looked at Sarah now, uncertain.

Sarah studied her. "Can't hurt to try it, right?" she asked at last. "Everything I use is quite safe and like I said… the botanical oils more than double the potency of the draught, so…well, it can't hurt, can it?"

"No… no, I suppose not. Right, then, I should probably drop this off for him tonight. We still have nearly an hour before we have to meet Brian, d'you want to meet me inside the pub at nine, then?"

"That'll do. I'll stop home to change."

"Yes, you'd better," Ginny said, suddenly in high spirits now that they were finished and the night lay ahead of them. "You're a bloody mess."

Sarah laughed, "What do you expect me to look like after the day we've had? Oh, and did I mention that you've had the same spot of dust on your nose since about noon?"

Ginny let out a cry of outrage and touched her nose. "Right, _I'm_ the type of person who warns her best friend when she looks like an abandoned house-elf, but obviously you're above all that."

Sarah gave an uncharacteristically flippant answer and laughing, the two friends parted ways outside the shop.

Ginny spent more time at home than she'd planned since her mother happened to be taking up the bathroom by giving Julian what consisted of the longest bath in the history of the Burrow—a rather impressive feat since Fred and George had once lived there. After her young nephew had been cleaned to the best of anyone's ability, Ginny was finally able to shower off the grimy feeling of a nine-hour work day and quickly made herself presentable for dinner. Hurrying downstairs to tell her mother that she was going out, she spotted the kitchen worktop piled with leftover food and prolonged leaving long enough to fill a plate for Harry.

It occurred to her moments later, when she materialized in front of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, that she hadn't set eyes upon it since she'd been a teenager. The house looked more rundown and desolate than it had when she'd known it as the headquarters of the Order, if that was possible, with the bare trees surrounding it and the windows frosty from the cold. She stared up at the manor-like house starkly displayed against the night sky, suddenly assaulted with memory after memory. Some were too horrible to think about, but some…well, some were rather fond and she found a sad smile for times past…and for the people who were no longer here.

There didn't appear to be any lights inside the house from what Ginny could see and for a moment, as she walked along the dirty path leading up to the front doors, she wondered if Harry was out. She grabbed the massive door knocker and knocked, then stepped back as the wind tossed her hair around. She felt a bit silly standing there all bundled up, with her mother's plate of food in one hand and a Lotion Lady bag in the other. Harry hadn't expressed any desire for visitors, much less a visitor who was about to unload a great deal of care on him, but still…she wouldn't be able to live with herself if the solution to his sleeping problem might be right under her nose and she didn't at least offer it to him.

Her brow crinkled a bit as the seconds passed into minutes and she leaned over to try and look through the closest window. Perhaps he wasn't home after all. Turning her wrist slightly and glancing at her watch, she started a bit at the time. She was going to be late for dinner.

Just as she was about to call it quits and leave to meet Sarah and Brian at the pub, without any preamble at all, the door was yanked open with a loud creak and Harry appeared in the frame, his eyes abruptly finding hers.

The bright "hi" she'd been about to say caught in her throat and came out a hesitant stutter. He looked … wired. There was no resemblance at all to the quiet, tired man she'd visited in the hospital a few weeks ago. His eyes, though bright with fatigue, were alert and ready, an intense, almost primal fire in them. His jaw was covered with black stubble and his hair was longer than he usually kept it and messier than ever.

He didn't respond, he didn't smile, he just looked at her and waited. Actually, he didn't look…he squinted at her, as though the faint light emanating from the moon was hurting his eyes.

Finding her voice, Ginny managed, "I, um…I was just on my way to meet Sarah and Brian for dinner, and…." She broke off and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry, were you…sleeping….?"

She could keep neither the continued stuttering nor the disbelief from her voice as she asked the question. His appearance suggested that he hadn't slept in weeks… although looking past him into the hallway, all she could see was pitch blackness.

"No," was his answer, and he left it at that.

Ginny's brows shot up at his brevity. "Oh…well..."

She stood there, completely thrown off. She knew that Harry had been forced to take time off from work to recuperate from that horrid ordeal and into her mind's eye came an image of him, alone in this fortress of a house with nothing to do but stew over that boy's death.

Had anyone thought to come by and check on him these past few weeks? Why hadn't that occurred to her when she'd decided to come tonight?

"I just…I wanted to stop by to see how you were doing," she finally managed softly. It was a lie, but it was all she could say. She found his eyes again. "I have something for you, d'you think… erm, d'you think I might…."

She trailed off, wondering what exactly it was that she wanted. Did she really want to go inside?

Harry was squinting down at her again, his eyes two green slits behind the glint of his glasses and his brow was drawn in thought. Then at once, it seemed as though a wave of apathy washed over him. His brow lifted indifferently and he simply turned, and walked into the house, leaving the door open and her standing on the porch alone.

She opened her mouth in surprise and started to say something but realized that she would only talking to herself. Was that an invitation? Had he muttered something that she hadn't heard, like, perhaps "come in" or "I'll be right back"? As she peered into the dark hallway, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled…and her heart began to sink as the reality of the situation suddenly washed over her.

Something was very wrong here. She shouldn't have come like this, without any thought at all. Had it been so long since she'd used her judgment where Harry was concerned that she'd forgotten she still needed it?

And at once it became clear to her that she was faced with the choice that she had worked forever to stay away from. She could follow him or she could walk away from him. That was all. No middle ground. It was run or jump.

She closed her eyes and tried to think, tried to reason, aware that with every second he was probably assuming she had turned around and gone on her way. Everything she had worked for over the years screamed at her to leave. In the long run, would it really help him, this stupid sleeping draught when it was clear he needed so much more? What was the real risk tonight… not helping Harry… or sacrificing herself….?

Logically, the answer was quite simple. She did not belong here tonight.

_Damn_.

Ignoring logic and listening to something much more powerful, Ginny stepped into the house and closed the door with a loud creak, taking even the faint light of the moon away. The entrance hall was as dark as it had appeared from outside and the smell in the air was stale and musky. Allowing her pupils to adjust for a moment, she tried to peer around.

"Harry?"

Silence answered her. Ginny lifted her brow and waited, a nervous, haunting feeling washing over her. She crossed her arms against a chill. Memories were flooding back in abundance now, the gloom of the hall reviving some forgotten fear inside of her. This house represented a cold time and she felt it in her bones as she stood there, waiting for some sign of him, unable to fathom living here every day.

Swallowing, she glanced around. The chandelier above her was draped in cobwebs and devoid of any candles. Several unlit gas lamps lined the walls, their brass glinting, and Ginny was about to retrieve her wand to light them when she saw, in the corner of the hall, a very faint light coming from a door.

"Harry?" she called again, but no response came.

Fingering her wand and wondering if she should use it for more light, Ginny sent a glance down the corridor before walking towards the door, hesitating for a moment when she reached it. She pushed the door open finally and peered inside. She had to blink a few times in the light which, though a drastic improvement, was quite dim. Waxy candles covered several surfaces, giving off enough candlelight to barely illuminate the room… which appeared to be a messy study crammed from wall to wall with furniture and boxes.

But Ginny's eyes were drawn not to the furniture, the cluttered desk, the unlit fireplace or the crowded bookshelves. Her eyes looked past stacks and stacks of files covering every surface and the cartons that were piled high throughout the room. She barely noticed the crumbled bits of parchment strewn across the floor and overflowing the bins. Ginny's eyes were pulled instead towards a single detail that appeared repeatedly throughout the mess...faces.

Faces… countless faces surrounded her. Faces that made her stomach turn, faces of prisoners in prison garb, holding numbers, their leering smiles and gleaming eyes fixing on her. They covered the walls and were scattered across sofas and chairs, the flickering light of the candles casting eerie shadows across their devious-looking features.

There were other photographs as well… of people on the street, taken from a distance as though their subjects were being followed. There were photographs of places that Ginny did not recognize such as vacant alleys, dark dungeons, some marked with the red smoke that signaled a crime scene, some clearly taken in different countries.

Ginny's eyes roamed over the large desk. There were a cluster of images pinned to the wall, each depicting a young boy…the same boy in every one, but at different ages, in different settings. The round, happy face caused a sick feeling to well in her throat until - her eyes halted. Her vision was suddenly filled with the image of the boy's dead body, as it lay motionless in its photograph, sprawled across a dirty floor, his hollowed eyes staring blankly upward—

The door creaked. Ginny whirled around to find Harry standing in the doorway, half of him bathed in shadow from the corridor.

"I'm sorry, I saw a light coming from here, I didn't mean to—Harry, what is all this?" she asked, her voice shaky.

His brow went up. "My work."

She gestured with her hand, but doing so upset a stack of notes lying open on a nearby carton; they almost spilled, but she managed to catch them in time. Sweeping the room with her gaze, she replied,

"A-all of this? I thought the case was closed."

"I have to do my report, don't I?"

The sarcasm in his voice was not lost on her. "But… well, yes, but…these files, all of these photographs, it's all from the Forthwright case? You...you need it all?" She knew she was being repetitive and stupid, but she couldn't fathom what on earth was going on.

Harry continued to look at her as though this room—which appeared to Ginny to be the ideal space for a mad stalker to keep his prey—was a perfectly normal study and she was the mad one for thinking it strange.

"Yeah," he responded flatly, "I mean, I have to be thorough, don't I? It's the least I can do for him, after all."

Ginny lifted her eyes to him. The turmoil in his eyes was palpable and raw with an underlying violence that threatened to implode at any moment. Holding his gaze, it all came rushing back. The agony … the grief … the terrible nights… the same haunting looks. How many times in how many years had she seen Harry like this? How many times had she lost herself to that look in his eyes?

The decision was made before she could even consider an alternative. She couldn't do this. She had to get out. She had to get out now.

"I, erm… Harry…." Words were jumbled. She tried to form a sentence in her mind before she spoke, but the effort failed miserably. "I don't … think that … you know, you really shouldn't be doing this right now," she blurted, unable to tear her eyes from his. "I think… I really think you need to get away from it. Take a step back… you know." She swallowed. "Your time off from work is supposed to allow you a rest, isn't it? The report…well, it can wait…can't it?"

He didn't respond, didn't move a muscle. Ginny pulled her gaze away and set the bowl of food she was carrying onto the small table next to her. With shaking hands, she took the package of sleeping draught and botanical oils from the bag.

"This is a remedy that we carry in the shop. It's supposed to help with… insomnia. I'm not quite sure how it works, but… well, there are instructions and everything, and I thought… Harry, I think you might do well to try this out. It might help, you know… and…well…"

Two agonizing seconds passed as they both stood there, immobile, both gazing down at the package that she held.

"Trying to put me to sleep, then?" he said finally, his voice a raspy whisper. "Trying to ease your conscience?"

"That's not why I'm here," she said meekly.

"The hell it's not. I don't need your _food_, Ginny—"

Without warning, he grabbed the bowl from the table and hurled it with all his strength. Ginny gasped as it hit the wall beside them with an earsplitting crash, shattering, sending jagged pieces of porcelain and bits of food flying everywhere.

"—or your bloody _drugs_—"

He grabbed it from her hands and heaved it, too, against the wall. His eyes glowed with a rage that she didn't want to believe was inside of him and for perhaps the first time in her entire life, Ginny felt genuine fear as she stood before Harry. She had never understood how Hermione could cringe and cower under her best friend's anger…but now…

"Or the goddamn _pity_ that you all insist on heaping onto me. Just get _out_, Ginny," he growled, "You'll be late for your friends."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, sending the door crashing into its frame….

Ginny stood where she was, completely and utterly frozen. Her body was shaking. Her brain was reeling. For the longest time, she remained shell-shocked and staring stupidly at the wall that dripped with food, unable to believe what she had just witnessed.

Slowly, mindlessly, she pulled out her wand and walked over to the mess, trying to control her rapid heart as she cleaned the food and fixed her mother's shattered plate.

She needed to leave…to do as he'd said and just get the hell out, as fast as she could. She stared down at her wand, turning it in her hands and considering using it to Disapparate. She was better at walking away now. Seeing him in Paris was proof of that. So all she had to do now was just…go.

She could almost see Brian and Sarah, sitting in an inviting pub with warm lights, good music, hearty food….

But she wasn't there. She wasn't in the picture. She was here, in this dungeon of a house, with a Harry that she was certain she couldn't handle and faced once again with two choices. Run or jump. If she left, she would once again be leaving her heart behind. She _could _do it, though. She could leave him again. It was a battle that she was resigned to fight for the rest of her life and she could win this one, too.

In one heart wrenching instant, her eyes filled with tears. She heard the voice in her head, insisting that he needed her, that allowing her into his home was the equivalent of showing her a gaping, open wound that desperately needed treatment. And she wanted to just… _leave_?

She swore loudly and balled her hands into tight fists, positively fuming that she was forced to make this decision.

Head reeling, heart pounding, she slammed from the study and followed the only source of light, stumbling down the stairs to the basement kitchen. She found him there, leaning against the worktop, braced on his arms, his head ducked between his shoulders. No breathing should be that controlled, she thought, stepping further inside, her heeled boots clicking on the stone floor.

Harry froze at the sound. "Didn't you hear what I said?" he demanded.

"Yes," she answered, her heart racing.

"Then get the hell out."

Ginny swallowed an enourmous lump in her throat. "No."

"Does it look like I'm _joking_, Ginny?" he asked, his voice rising as he whipped his head around. Now, however, she was past being intimidated. She was staying. The decision had been made for her… and she'd be damned if she'd make it easy on him.

"No," she answered quietly, "To be perfectly honest, you look pathetic."

He at least had the presence of mind to look taken aback. "What?"

Raising an eyebrow, she said, "Pathetic… or maybe you really are crazy."

He stared at her, struggling to find a response only momentarily before replying dangerously, "I probably am. Doesn't it make you afraid to be alone with me?"

She found herself smiling. "I learned at an early age not to be afraid of you, Harry. I bet you wish that I was, though, it would make the misery ever so much better, wouldn't it? You could wallow in it all night, all by yourself, but it begs the question of why you let me in here in the first place. You need help, and you know it—"

"Whose? _Yours_?" he asked, a cruel smile forming on his lips. She thought her heart might stop as he came painfully close to the issue that had been the center of her life for as long as she could remember. But she merely lifted a brow.

"Yes, mine. Why not? Lord knows I've done my share to help you in the past—"

"Your _share_? Your share of _what_, exactly?" His eyes glowed with the thrill of the fight, as he took a dangerous step towards her. This was what he wanted, she realized. He needed the action, he needed the battle. "What was it, then, did you lot have a schedule? Something like, "You take his Monday breakdown, I've plans that day". You know, if I was such a bloody burden on you, then you shouldn't have _done your share_—"

She interrupted his pity party abruptly with, "I never said you were a burden, you stupid git."

Harry stared at her and slowly, his lip curled into a sneer. "Oh, no that's right… I wasn't a burden." His voice was soft. His eyes were mean. "I was never a burden on you..._particularly_. Isn't that right, Ginny?"

Stung by his blatant mocking, Ginny's face burned and her anger spiked. Harry took another step towards her.

"You're uninvited, so just get the hell out of my house."

She felt as though all the breath had left her. There was a long, awful pause before the knot in her throat was dissolved into a bitter laugh.

"You know I see right through you," she whispered. "You lash out at me, aiming where it hurts, but you know that it won't make me leave. You know that it only keeps me here fighting. Because that's what you _want_, isn't it? You're so _transparent_—"

"_I'm_ transparent—!"

"You need me and you _damn_ well know it—!"

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Ginny," he said in a low, threatening voice. "You don't want me to go there, so just drop it."

Both fear and anger mingled together and crashed into her. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, positively fuming. She felt vicious, and the urge to hurt him was genuine. How dare he make her _fear_ him? How dare he take something so personal to her and make _threats_ with it? He had no right, no bloody right, to even _touch_ the subject, let alone use it against her.

"Then go there. I dare you. Because I promise you, Harry, you won't win."

Their eyes, now flashing with equal intensity, locked in battle.

"I have work to do," he snapped.

"Really? It can wait," she said, yanking at the knot in her scarf and pulling it off.

"No, see," he said, his tone sarcastic, "perhaps _your_ work can wait. But there's actually some importance to my job, so I need to get on with it."

Ginny smiled at his effort to insult her. "I'm not leaving, Harry. You can keep at it, trying to think of more ways to insult me so that I'll storm out of here, but it's not going to work. You think I'm going to leave now, after you're trying to insult me?" She couldn't stop the sarcastic snort. "Right, you can't even do it properly, either. You used to be better at fighting."

And with that, she yanked her cloak free and tossed it on the chair, her scarf and gloves following. The gestures seemed to push him close to the edge.

"I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!"

"The hell you don't," she replied calmly.

"You're way off the mark, thinking I'll confide in _you _about anything—"

"Off the mark, is it? Well, perhaps I'm thinking of our conversation in St. Mungo's where I sat with you _all_ _night_ –"

"I didn't ask you to come there—"

"—talking about your sleeping problems, and the Forthwright boy—"

"Stop."

His voice, low and controlled, scared Ginny far more than his loudest shouting, but she kept on, "Or perhaps I'm thinking of all the _other_ nights, the _countless_ other nights, at the Burrow, in the bloody Gryffindor common room—"

He let out a vehement exclamation and took a step towards her, his finger pointed directly at her. "Do not try to use YOUR bleeding heart as an example of you helping me. That was all _you_. I never asked for your help, I had my own friends—"

"Who, Ron and Hermione?" she shot back, "They could never quite get through to you the way I did and you damn well know it—"

"Oh, you give yourself far too much credit, Ginny. You think you can compare yourself to Ron and Hermione? You think you even come _close_?"

"Maybe not," she said, and her voice shook, "But they seem to be a bit absent right now, so I'm all you have."

"Well then that's not much."

A surge of emotion swelled inside of her at his declaration, causing her temper to reach a near boiling point. "Just who the _hell_ do you think you are, talking to me like that? I've _always_ been there when you needed me—"

"Always?" he demanded. He lifted a brow. "Always? Are you sure about that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Right, keep talking in riddles. It's so much fun."

He ignored her jab. "Apparently, your definition of "always" is something along the lines of "when you happen to be in the country". Isn't that right?"

She was shocked into silence before she asked, hr voice hushed, "What?"

"You heard me."

"How did my living in Paris have any affect on _you_? I don't remember you feeling the need to maintain any contact with me when I was there."

Harry very nearly growled, "Don't pretend you never received a letter from me, because that would be a bald-faced lie."

"A letter! Oh, come off it—I _never_ received a letter from you."

He looked at her with disgust. "And you call _me _pathetic? I sent you an owl your first summer in Paris! Are you going to pretend that you never received it?"

"I'm not going to pretend anything," she snapped. "I did _not_ receive a letter from you when I was in Paris...never, not once."

His eyes were narrowed now and he was looking at her as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing… and then something changed in his eyes. "Well perhaps your roommate chucked it in the bin."

"Don't be ridiculous, Brian wouldn't have—" And something very cold seeped into her blood. There was an image forming in her brain… an image of herself … she'd just stepped into the flat on a warm summer's day to find a letter on the sideboard and a snowy owl on the sill.

"_That's for you_." Brian's voice cut through the fog in her brain. "_Came this afternoon."_

Ginny felt a wave of nausea hit her. It was the same feeling she'd had years ago when she'd walked to the kitchen and let the unopened envelope slide from her fingertips into the bin. At the back of her mind, she marveled that she had completely forgotten about it… to the point where she'd made herself believe that it hadn't arrived in the first place. But it had been survival back then and that letter wasn't the only thing she'd forced herself to forget about.

The dawning realization must have shown on her face because he looked smugly satisfied with himself. "Forget, did you?"

She cleared her throat. "I'm, sorry. I do remember one letter—something happened, I didn't get the chance to read it—I mean I started to read it, but something… I got caught up in—"

"Stop it."

Her eyes flew to his and she tried not to cringe at what she saw. There was a keen disappointment on his face now.

"Don't make up excuses; you didn't even open the damn thing, did you?"

"Harry, it wasn't like that," she insisted, shame now overcoming all her other whirling emotions. "I just… in Paris, things were—"

"I don't CARE, Ginny!" he exploded suddenly and though he was furious, his eyes shined with hurt. "You're the one carrying on about always being there, when the truth is, you only come round when it benefits YOU—_your_ life, _your_ crush, whatever the hell you're on about at the time. So don't stand here in _my_ house trying to act the martyr when the only reason you're here is due to GUILT because I didn't just take your medicine and go to bed like a good little boy!"

The injustice positively burst inside of her. She felt as though she had lost touch with reality. How did she get here, in front of him… in front of _Harry_…flooded by his accusations and his resentment? "How can you accuse me of being selfish, of all things?"

"You are selfish. You "didn't get the chance" to read a letter that I sent to you at a time when the whole goddamned world—including _Paris_—was reading about every failure in my life—"

"What are you talking about?"

"—printing and reprinting the interview she gave about me, quoting all the best parts about my failing at auror training, failing at relationships, failing at _life_—" He shoved a chair out of his way as he paced the kitchen. "Weeks and weeks of articles about it - did I really have the strength, the talent, the _nerve _to be an auror, or was the Ministry just giving me whatever I wanted in compensation for ridding the world of Voldemort?"

All she could do was stare at him, completely dumbfounded upon noticing her blank look, he let out a sarcastic laugh.

"Come to think of it, you were probably too busy to actually read the articles as well, eh? That makes sense now. It wasn't going to benefit you, so why would you bother?"

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, trying to understand what he was talking about. An article? She wracked her already befuddled brain, and tried to remember all the times Brian had mentioned Harry being in the papers. But at the same time, she knew it was futile. It had been common practice to tune out the minute Brian said Harry's name or the second she saw it written in a letter from her family. If there had been something going on, there was an excellent chance that she wouldn't have even known about it.

But even as she tried…even as she stood there, caught inside the trap she had unknowingly set for herself, one word in his entire tirade had her heart frozen in her throat.

"She?"

Harry's head snapped up.

"She gave an interview about you? Rebecca?"

His eyes were unreadable. "Yeah."

Her insides were trembling with some sort of deep-rooted apprehension. It was like she had known about this in some recess of her brain, but hadn't ever allowed herself to fully realize it.

"I…don't understand." Her voice sounded jerky and vulnerable. "How? _Why_?"

Harry fixed his eyes on her and Ginny tried not to shiver outwardly…it felt like he could see right into her heart.

"It wasn't her fault," he said, his eyes still level. "The press cornered her and…she was weak. She didn't know what she was doing."

"She didn't know what she was _doing_?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "Not really. There were too many reporters. It was an ambush."

As though she was being transported back in time, Ginny felt a surge of jealousy take over. Hearing him try to defend Rebecca against what was obviously an enormous act of betrayal made her feel like she'd just been slapped across the face.

"An ambush of…what, exactly? Did they feed her Veritaserum, or something? Did they hold a wand to her? How does someone talk about—how did she _do_ that and not know that she was betraying you?"

Harry stared at her for a long time. "Some people are just too weak to—"

"_Weak_? How was she too _weak_ to know the difference between being loyal and selling someone out?" she demanded hotly.

Harry's eyes flashed for the first time since she'd begun questioning him about Rebecca. "What the hell is it to you, anyway? It's none of your business why she did it—"

"None of my business?" She was shaking from head to toe, unable to control herself. "Well it's only that I'm finding it difficult to understand why you don't have any anger towards her at all when she did something so awful, so _hurtful_ … but me… well I forget to read one stupid letter and you're full of this anger… this _resentment_ that I don't understand—"

"Do you know what it's like to truly hate yourself, Ginny?"

Completely taken aback, Ginny looked up at him and saw pitiless green eyes burning into hers.

"To realize that everything you've built your life around is a lie, a-a cover… for what you should have felt years ago…?"

His words didn't apply to her… not in the slightest. But she felt as though it was the closest he had ever come to her heart.

"That's what happened to me," he continued and now his breathing was labored, as though he was trying to control some kind of inner wrath. "When the war ended, I was fine. I had people in my life… friends. All the things that I had wanted to feel for so long, I felt. Freedom… relief… all of it. I was _fine._ Better than fine." His face hardened. "But I wasn't. I didn't know that I was a walking time bomb. I didn't know that it wasn't supposed to have been that easy. It was shock, Hermione said. It didn't allow me to feel what I should have felt after the war and I paid for it a year later when I found myself in the middle of simulated battles, surrounded by the Dark Arts, forced to duel every single day and it occurred to me exactly what had happened, exactly what I had done!"

He gripped the back of a chair that was in front of him, and swallowed something bitter.

"I killed him. I – killed – Voldemort. Because of me, everyone was saved, and now, I was supposed to be the greatest auror of all time. Now, I was supposed to live the ideal life and continue to save the goddamn world. And not only that," he continued, his breathing coming faster now, his face breaking out into a sweat, his voice becoming more heated, "I had to be the perfect best friend. The perfect boyfriend. The perfect auror. I had to manage my time better than the bloody Minister for Magic. I had to be _happy_ and pretend that I wasn't scared to death that I would never be able to live up to any of it."

He paused to try and maintain some sort of control over himself, but his hand trembled as he wiped the sweat off his lip.

"And then," he went on, his voice shaking almost as bad as the hand gripping the chair, "the person who had started the whole farce in the first place, who'd made me believe that I could actually be happy without any consequences… she goes and tells the bloody Prophet how _worried_ she is about me. And that has the world wondering. Will Harry Potter ever be normal after everything that's happened to him? Can he ever recover from the trials he was put through, from the countless losses? Will he ever be able to lead a normal life?" He punctuated each query with a jerk of the chair. "Can you understand what that was like, Ginny? Having the entire world voicing your own worst fears … and trying to prove them _true_? That's what _I_ was dealing with while you were in Paris. That's what you would have found in that letter had you to bothered to open it."

Ginny's own breathing had become labored. There was something struggling to come out of her, some awful bout of grief or pity or angst. Words were lost on her. She was afraid if she tried to speak, something pathetic and weak would come out.

"So here I am," he said suddenly, his hand gripping the chair so tightly, it looked as though his fingers would break under the strain. "In the same boat … with the same… failure! Because I couldn't save him, I not only failed Devon and his family, no… I've failed the entire world. Well, I don't want it anymore," he declared, jerking his head from side to side. "I don't want to live with the image of that little boy looking at me and thinking I'm there to save him. I don't want to have to watch his tiny life get SNUFFED over and over again in my head, in my sleep—" He broke off on a noise of frustration. "I can't DO it, anymore, are you listening to me? I don't want to—I _can't_—"

His eyes were pleading with her to understand, pleading with her to give him some kind of reprieve and all she could do was hold his gaze and hang onto his every word. It hit her then, like a bludger to the stomach, exactly what this… scene, this horrible state he was in reminded her of. The restless movements, the haunted eyes, the exploding temper… it was Harry, yes, but combined with this eerie house, this unkempt, anxious ghost of a man who seemed trapped inside his own skin … it was like looking into the eyes of his godfather.

"And the worst part is, nobody understands," he croaked, and the chair he was gripping began to shake. "Nobody can know what it's like to see what I saw that day. _Nobody_."

"That's where you're wrong, Harry—"

"_No_, Ginny." He spoke with a keen sense of regret, as though he couldn't possibly believe that she was right and all the while, his eyes still bore into hers, pleading with her to get it. "Don't you think I wish it were true? Don't you think I wish Ron and Hermione could really understand?" There was a long, horrible pause as he struggled with his next words. "I'm alone, okay?"

She shook her head fiercely. "No. You're not alone...they do know."

He laughed a mirthless laugh and shook his head. She felt his hopelessness. She felt his isolation. Driven by something deep inside, something beyond her control, she reached out and closed her hand over his.

"They _do_," she said firmly, prying his fingers from the back of the chair. "When you love someone, you know what hurts them the most. You know _how_ they hurt, you know their thoughts and the things they do to punish themselves. Ron and Hermione… they _know_ what this feels like for you, Harry, believe me… they know… and so do I."

His hand jerked under hers, and Ginny paused, trying to give him a moment to gain back the control that was rapidly slipping away from him.

"You cannot torture yourself," she said finally, in a low, almost-practical voice. "I know it feels like it's your fault. And I know on some horrible, unspeakable level, it seems true. It was your job to try to save him. It was. But you just couldn't. You couldn't, Harry! It's not as though you didn't try… it's not as though you didn't put everything you had into it. You just _couldn't_. And you cannot give up your sanity or your life as penance for that."

She watched, torn between terror and anguish as he lifted his eyes to the ceiling, as he tried so hard to keep the tears from them. "I couldn't… so what does that make me?"

"It makes you human!" she snapped, her hand tightening. She wanted to strangle him and hold him at the same time. "You speak about being normal? That alone makes you as normal as any man on the face of the earth! You are not a self-proclaimed hero, Harry. You didn't ask to have that label, you didn't give it to yourself. No human being can live up to what you've been labeled as and as long as you try, you're doomed to failure."

Her words seemed to hang over him. He stood where he was, motionless, his hand caught underneath hers, his chest moving up and down slowly… and before she knew it, the smallest signs of control began to slip back into his breathing pattern. And after a while, his breath came out in one long, shudder.

"This house is like a dungeon," he exclaimed, running his free hand down the length of his face. He took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's like … I don't know which room to go in, I feel like a goddamned … prisoner." His pulled his hand away from his face and his eyes became darker. "I know exactly how this place drove Sirius mad."

Ginny took a shaky breath of her own. "It's not the same, though. You're two very different men."

There was a pause and then, "Maybe we're not so different."

Her throat constricted, she asked, "What do you mean?"

His eyes began to glow eerily… as though he was about to let her in on a deep, dark secret. "Sirius had his golden years just like I had mine. But then he became a prisoner. His sanity, his dignity, it was all taken from him… he lost control of himself."

Harry paused then, swallowing something bitter and waited before speaking, as though trying to decide whether he should continue. Then, he brought his eyes back to hers and without the shield of his glasses, they were greener than she'd ever seen them.

"_Look_ at me, Ginny," he whispered. "I don't even know who I am anymore. Maybe… this is just how it's supposed to be. Maybe I'm not supposed to be … happy or normal or … whatever…."

His words awoke in her something that she'd thought had died with the war… it came from a part of her that was tucked so deeply inside that she couldn't remember ever feeling so hurt. His worst accusations, his taunting her, everything that he had said to her tonight was nothing compared with hearing him speak like this about himself. All she could do was try to blink back the tears that were threatening, finally managing,

"So … your logic is to… what?" she whispered softly. "Chalk it up to another tragic life lost by Voldemort? Let your work drown you, let it beat you down because you think what happened to Sirius was some sort of … _legacy_, some stupid—" She broke off, shaking her head. "And while you allow yourself to go down the same path that Sirius did, countless other Devon Forthwrights just…what? They _die_, Harry."

He closed his eyes. "Ginny—"

"You speak about losing dignity," she whispered, taking a step towards him. "About losing yourself. Harry… I have been there. You want to talk about _hating _yourself?" She gave soft laugh. "I've looked into the mirror and felt revulsion many times. In answer to your question, yes, I do know what it's like to hate yourself. I do know what it's like to feel like your life is… what was it?... a cover for something you should have felt years ago. I left, Harry. I took matters into my own hands, I went to Paris to save myself."

Something came into Harry's eyes then and Ginny broke off as he looked away. She hadn't before realized how close they were standing. Her eyes were level with his shoulder and she could see the threads in his T-shirt and at once she became aware that her hand was still on top of his, resting on the chair that stood between them.

And she didn't know how she knew suddenly...she just did. _He_ knew. Harry knew exactly what she was talking about.

He knew everything.

The thought was absurd and yet, though her brain wanted to refuse it somehow…it all made sense. His anger towards her for not reading his letter…his insistence that she'd only ever been there for him when it suited her…it was all fitting together like the answer to some obvious riddle. She'd never been able to hide her feelings, not for long, not without giving something away, some sign. And during that time, _had_ there been something… some moment of weakness, some slip that had showed him it wasn't over for her, that it had _never_ been over? As she stared at him, at Harry, the person she'd once claimed to know better than anyone…Ginny knew it must be true. He'd known all along.

"But you already knew that, didn't you?" she asked softly and she watched him keep his eyes cast downward. "Why I went to Paris…"

When he didn't answer, Ginny pulled her hand from his and turned away. An emptiness began to spread inside of her until there was nothing but a deep void that she knew would never be filled again. She couldn't help thinking that this night… it had begun as any ordinary evening. She'd set out to meet her best friends for dinner and had unwittingly walked into something so different, so vital, that it had changed her life just that quickly. It was a wonder at all that something like this could be going on inside this house, inside of Harry and she might have just…missed it.

This night had turned into the loss of innocence. A part of her – a safe, comforting part – was gone forever. She felt as though she was now the one with the gaping, open wound.

"I suppose I shouldn't be so angry that you didn't read my letter," Harry said into the silence, and Ginny all but cringed at hearing him speak about the very thing she'd thought she would take to the grave, "but—"

"I should have read it," Ginny said, interrupting him because it was just too painful to hear him talking about it. It hadn't been just a casual owl… it had been something that Harry rarely did on his own accord. He didn't ask for help easily. That letter had been a cry for help and she had thrown it in the bin.

The fire burned in the fireplace, crackling lightly and Ginny turned back to it. There was a pressure in her chest, a horrible feeling of dawning reality; it shattered things that she'd held sacred. Her actions had been purely selfish and had caused someone terrible pain. And not just anyone…Harry. "I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered, becoming transfixed by the fire. She wanted to look at him, but she was scared that she would break if she did. "I should never have cast it aside like that."

She turned to look at him, but before she could even begin thinking about what to say to him next, a thunderous blast resonated throughout the house, followed a series of ear-splitting bangs that caused Ginny to whirl around to face him.

"What—" she managed to blurt, but the question faded when she saw that the noise didn't seem to cause him any surprise at all. He looked, in fact, annoyed at the interruption and raised his eyes to look at the ceiling, giving his head a small shake.

"Don't worry," he muttered, "it's just a ghoul."

Ginny blinked. "A ghoul? It sounded like a train wreck.

"Oh." Glad for the rather well-timed distraction, Ginny bit her lip and asked, "Is it a bit… loud for a ghoul?"

Harry let out a long sigh, his eyes still lifted towards the ceiling. "He hangs about near the fireplace in one of the third-floor rooms," he answered, his brow still furrowed. "I've been meaning to get rid of him for awhile now, but…well…." He shrugged again and brought his eyes to down hers. "I don't mind him much."

Ginny looked at him. Though her insides felt like a massive ball of nerves and a millions thoughts were jumbled in her head and her emotions were running on some sort of erratic overdrive, another feeling cut through everything. And suddenly, for the first time that night, she felt true pity for him.

"Imagine what the gossip rags would say," she said dully, lifting her brow, "if they found out you've a ghoul for a flat mate."

His eyes stayed on hers for a moment and then they crinkled at the corners. "They'd say…I couldn't find a human who would live with me, so I had to seek help from the undead."

She couldn't help the sudden smile. But it faded quickly and soon they were standing together in a silence that was riddled with something a great deal simpler than everything else that had occured between them tonight. And then, from out of the blue,

"D'you want some… tea or something?"

There was defeat in his voice. It was like some sort of war had been waged tonight and he didn't know if he'd lost or won. It was the helplessness, the confusion... the regret in that one little query that caused her to nod her head wearily… because she was feeling the exact same things.

"Yeah, all right."

Hours later, Ginny woke up disoriented. Curled in a horrifically uncomfortable position on a sofa that was entirely too small for her, she became aware that she wasn't in her own bedroom… or her own house for that matter. The room was dark… but not too dark. There was light coming from somewhere and she struggled to sit up, but in her cramped position, managed only to lift her head.

Then she saw him. The source of the light… the source of why she'd fallen asleep on this tiny sofa, why her stomach had twisted into knots the moment she'd opened her eyes. His outline was illuminated by the candle that was stationed on top of the desk where he sat writing on a long roll of parchment that appeared to be covered with ink on both sides. His head was bent, his shoulders hunched as he wrote furiously, consulted notes and opened files, all at a pace that suggested his deadline was fast approaching. Ginny let her head fall back again and nestled into herself, unaware of the time or even the day. Suddenly, the sofa didn't seem so uncomfortable.

They were back where they'd started, in the room where they had begun the rather… eventful evening. Not moving a muscle, she let her eyes roam, keeping her gaze firmly away from the scary faces covering the walls. She noticed that Harry had lit the fireplace and quite a few more candles. It wasn't as dark as it had been earlier, nor was it as frightening. Something about seeing him actually working in his element, surrounded by his work, caused the room to feel differently.

She watched him search for something in the files that were piled on the desk until he finally pushed back his chair to sift through a carton next to the desk. His glasses slid dangerously low on his nose as he searched the carton, before straightening a moment later, several files in his hands. He looked up and his eyes landed directly on Ginny. There was a momentary pause.

"Oh," he said, his eyes wide, as though she'd caught him in the act of some wrong-doing. "You're awake." His voice held no signs of fatigue at all. He looked more alert than he had all night, and from the helpless glance back to the files he was holding, it appeared that he was anxious to keep working.

Ginny managed an embarrassed smile and tried to sit up again. "Yeah…sorry."

"No, it's all right," he was quick to say. "I'm sorry, I was going to wake you, but… I didn't know if…."

"S'okay," she croaked, finally managing to pull herself into a sitting position, her legs still tucked underneath her. She lifted a hand to her hair. She didn't even want to know what it looked like. "What's the time?"

A shadow of guilt crossed his face as he looked at a small clock on his desk. "Half past four."

Her eyes bugged out for a moment. "Crap. I have to work in…three hours."

"Sorry," he said again.

Ginny groaned, letting her legs flop onto the floor. "Don't worry," she mumbled. "I've accomplished quite a lot on no sleep, I can certainly get through one work day." Then she looked at him. "Not that it's a good thing to do all the time."

Harry lifted a brow and she couldn't help but notice a glint in his eyes. "Do as you say, not as you do, then?"

She managed a tired chuckle and nodded. It had been quite an evening and she was anxious to get home. Harry was working. There would be no convincing him to stop, from the looks of things and she had to at least be able to ensure that she stayed awake tomorrow … especially after standing Sarah up tonight. The thought made her close her eyes. Dinner seemed so long ago. She would have to make it up to Sarah … and Brian as well.

Her mind fell back to earlier that evening, when she and Harry had been sitting in the kitchen. After a few dull hours of tea and stale biscuits, punctuated by long silences and pathetic conversations about absolutely nothing, he had finally burst out with the real reason he was taking this Forthwright report so seriously.

"Because there's something missing," he'd insisted, looking up at her from across the kitchen table. His eyes had flared, his face had hardened and he'd looked as though the mere thought of it would cause him to explode. "He wasn't there that whole time. Did you know that we searched that house several times before we finally found him there, on a third search? And the kidnapper we found him with wasn't even a bloody _suspect_?"

Ginny had shaken her head, her eyes somber and on his.

"Something is just off," he'd continued fiercely, shoving his teacup away in frustration. "I don't know what it is. I can't find it, I can't see it _anywhere_. But it's my _gut_, Ginny." There had been pain there, shining in the green depths. "I'd bet every knut in Gringotts, I'd lay my life on it. I missed something."

Ginny had looked at him. His frustrations, his commitment …what it had done to him, what _failing_ had done, watching that boy die right in front of his eyes… she had felt it all. The torture. The pure and utter torture. The reality of Harry's own childhood had come to her so vividly; his life had begun when he'd turned eleven years old and was introduced to the magical world… and here was a young boy, who'd died before even having the chance to attend Hogwarts. In that instant Ginny had seen Harry completely, without any pity, without any regard for his well-being or what she had spent all night arguing with him about. None of it had mattered anymore… only him and what he needed to do.

"Then you have to find it," she'd said, looking him dead in the face. She would probably never forget the look in his eyes after she'd said it. A light had come into them and he'd stared at her for a long time. Grateful wasn't the word.

"Did you figure it out?" Ginny asked now, coming out of her thoughts. He was searching again, through cartons. "Anything new?"

Harry paused in the act of impatiently flipping through a large stack of photographs. "No…no, I haven't found anything new," he muttered. Then, he set the photographs on top of the carton and swore softly. "I'm just going in bloody circles."

There was a moment in which they both processed this, and then like a jinx, the helplessness snapped from him and he continued the search, through files and boxes.

Ginny watched him for a long time, watched his shaking hands, heard him swear when yet another box was searched and he still couldn't find whatever document he was looking for. She knew there was nothing she could do to help him now. She knew that she could start the same fight, make all the same arguments, shove him in a chair and force him to listen to reason. She could break him down again. But what would it solve? He still wouldn't have found what he was looking for and she wouldn't make it to work on time.

Groggily, she stood from the sofa and paused in the act of stretching. Stepping over a small crate at her feet, she stood before a group of photographs that were clustered on the wall, her eyes landing on one in particular. It depicted Devon Forthwright at around five years old. His parents, as well as what appeared to be his grandparents surrounded him, along with a pile of brightly wrapped presents. It was Christmas. Ginny watched his mother plant a very wet kiss on his cheek, watched the boy struggle from the tight hug she was trying to enclose him in.

"You know… maybe the best thing to do is just… nothing." Her eyes wouldn't move from the photograph. "Just… let it go, you know?"

There was a long pause. "Even though I know there might be something missing?" he demanded and his throat was constricted.

"Yeah," she said at last, her eyes dry and somber and still staring hard at the photographs. She turned away after a few moments, but the image was still imprinted on her mind. "Maybe it's not supposed to be found, Harry. His family… they probably just need to grieve now."

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "Don't I have an obligation, Ginny?"

"An obligation to whom?" she asked, taking a step towards him. "To his parents? To him?" She shook her head. "What about to yourself? Look, I know that seems selfish, but…." She looked around at the clutter in the room. "There has to be a point where you can … stop. I mean… am I wrong? I don't know … is it so wrong for you to just admit that you did all you could and put it to rest?"

Harry shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. He didn't know the answer anymore than she did. "That's what the Ministry says… but …."

Ginny saw the helpless need. He wanted it to be over. He wanted so badly to just lay it all to rest… but the guilt, as usual, was overcoming him.

"I think," she said, and she felt the threat of tears as she took another step towards him, "that you need to do what's good for you right now. And if letting go is good for you… then you need to do it. Because torturing yourself trying to find whatever it is you _think_ you missed—"

He tried to interrupt, but Ginny shook her head.

"—is not only hurting you, but it's hurting the people you could be helping." Her eyes blurred. "And it's hurting the people who love you."

He brought his eyes to hers quickly and Ginny looked back at him. On the surface, nothing had changed much about him since she'd walked through the door the night before...he hadn't shaved, hadn't cleaned himself up. There was still a sadness about him, and he looked if possible even more restless now that he'd momentarily stopped the superfluous work that had been his distraction from what was, essentially, his period of mourning for the loss of Devon Forthwright. Still...she could see that, at least on some level, she'd made him feel better. Perhaps she'd even managed to give him the ammunition he needed to overcome his grieved guilt about the whole thing… even if she'd done it at an unthinkable cost to herself.

She'd do it again in a heartbeat.

"Ginny," he said awkwardly, his voice raspy, looking exhausted but nevertheless allowing himself a slight smile as he cast his eyes downward, "I just...well. Thanks. For everything."

He looked up at her again, and something inside her snapped. The bitter arguing, the hurtful exchanges, the huge revelations she'd made about herself only to find out he'd known her so much better than she'd thought... it all welled up in her again as she stared into those green eyes she'd loved for so long. Ginny took a step forward, fully intending to hug him goodbye...only when she put her arms around his neck, some long-buried and unrequited yearning rose up and stubbornly took control. She had no time to tame it or to compose herself, and she barely registered the surprise in his eyes as she impulsively pressed her mouth against his.

There was a moment when nothing moved, not their bodies, not their lips, not their hands, their eyes still locked… then Harry's eyes glazed. His hand tightened on her back where they had landed in his shock at her sudden embrace. The storm was starting again and the intensity, the speed with which it took hold of her was terrifying. All she could do was stay still, staring into the green depths as he slowly allowed his mouth to move over hers, returning her kiss.

Her vision blurred … her eyes slid closed…. She felt nothing but his mouth and a million different kinds of pain shooting through her body. It was slow and shallow…and painful. A small, desperate moan escaped her.

Nothing mattered. _Nothing_. Harry was kissing her. It was higher than the highest elation, lower than the lowest anguish…it was everything.

Her mouth opened with his and she cried out, clutching his shirt, her nails digging into his shoulder. She had no idea where his hands were now until one of them came up to hold her face as he deepened the kiss, a low, almost inaudible noise escaping him. His hand was tangled in her hair now and the other was still on her back, twisting her sweater as desperation grew, as her knees buckled and she held onto him for dear life. And then—

"_No._"

Her arms were being gripped and her body was being thrust backwards and the loss of contact, the loss of his mouth, of his hands, of _him_ was suddenly surrounding her. She was standing there in shock, her entire body trembling from head to toe, staring at him in silent horror… as though he couldn't have shoved her away from him like that.

But he had.

"You should go," he repeated. He wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't even breathe towards her. "This isn't right."

His words reached her and she heard them but she couldn't feel them. She couldn't feel anything.

"You have to go, you have to … you can't be here right now." He could barely speak for breathing so fast. "Please."

She heard what he was telling her, she registered his words… but all she could do was stare at him.

And then… something happened. Something cut through the freeze that had taken over her. A slow course of reality began to seep its way in… and it was so horrible, so unspeakable, it allowed her to know one thing … and that was that she had to get out. Fast.

The next thing she knew, her feet were crunching on the recently fallen snow as she hurried down the stairs of 12 Grimauld Place, along the pathway that she'd walked up before… before everything.

She passed the point where she'd Apparated earlier, past more houses, reaching the end of the block, only to cross the street and continue on. She didn't know where she was walking … but she couldn't stop. She couldn't go home.

The sky had an odd tint to it, still black as night, but with a sort of light coming from somewhere. She recognized it as the beginning of the sunrise.

How many sunrises had she seen in Paris? How gorgeous had they been? No sunrise could ever be as breathtaking as Paris'….

Paris.

She stopped suddenly. She was standing near a desolate park. It registered that it must have snowed while she'd been inside Harry's. The trees had a light lining of sparkling white covering every branch and an even layer coated the freshly painted benches. There was one next to a tall lamppost that would have looked almost picturesque with the trickling of snow glazing the top of the post. Ginny barely felt the freeze of the snow as she sat down on the bench. Her breathing was strong. She'd probably broken into a run at some point, so determined had she been to get away. Her cloak was thrown haphazardly around her shoulders. Had she grabbed it before she'd run out the door? She could have hopped on a broomstick and flown from his study to the front doors for all she knew. She couldn't even remember if she'd said goodnight to Harry.

Harry.

The first of the tears formed in her eyes, and spilled, hot and wet, against her cold cheeks. The numbness that had started to fade inside the house was rapidly disappearing, being replaced with a deep pain that was very different from the ones she'd felt when Harry had kissed her.

Kissed her. Who the bloody hell was she kidding? She had been the one doing the kissing. She had been the one to start the entire thing.

Moaning, she leaned forward and wrapped one arm around her stomach, reaching out to grip the lamppost with the other. Shame welled up inside of her, filling every corner of her until she felt as though she were being smothered….

Hours later, when she finally stood from that bench, the sun shined brightly against the fresh snow. Ginny squinted against it and pulled out her wand. She was numb once again… from the frost or the shame or probably both… and she wrapped her cloak tightly around her. She couldn't stay here all day. She needed to get to work.

As she left the park and walked a short ways before Disapparating, Ginny felt as though she had left a part of herself behind on that bench.

To Be Continued.

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A/N: About the chapter's title. I know I don't ordinarily name my chapters, but it just felt right. Fallen. Harry's already down and Ginny talks throughout the fic about her choice to "run or jump". She choices to jump and ends up falling hard.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Title**: "Seeking Ginny"

**Author**: Casca

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: I know I said it wouldn't be up today… but I slaved to make it happen. Thanks to Emmyjean for putting up with my temper tantrums reguarding this chapter and thanks to my dear, dear naggers. Love you all!

**This chapter has been rewritten as of February 2007.**

Chapter Twelve

On Christmas night, Ginny had a dream. She was in her darkened bedroom and she was alone…with the exception of one person. Harry was with her… he cupped her face in his hands and bent his head towards hers and for one blissful moment, the world was as it should be. Then before she knew what was happening, she went flying backwards. She reached out but something solid held her back and it was then that she realized that Harry was the one pushing her from him despite her struggle.

Then she was falling, falling through the air until her body landed like a sack on the stairs of the Burrow and down she went, hitting every step before landing in a heap at the bottom. Struggling, reached for the stairs to pull herself up but she could have been made of lead. She managed to flip over onto her back and watched, horrified, as a deep red blood spread wildly across her chest so that her sweater was almost completely crimson.

Her mother was pleading with her. "Ginny, please. I'm not going to ask you again. Great Auntie Muriel's just arrived and you're being terribly rude."

Molly's words echoed, along with a voice in Ginny's head that urged her eyes to open. It took a long time to manage it, but at last, her eyelids fluttered and she stared into her mother's frowning face.

"It's nearly noon, Ginny. Noon. The guests are arriving and you're still in bed and – look at this room, I thought you told me last night you would tidy it before bed."

The reality of the morning came slowly crashing down upon her. It was Boxing Day. There was one day left before the holidays were finished. But before she could think about that, before she could even begin to feel relieved that life would go back to normal after today, things began to move. Molly walked brusquely to the window shade, pulled it up and began speaking, not bothering to notice that Ginny had pressed her fingers over her eyes to recover from the bright sun.

Her heart was still beating at a rapid pace and she was hot all over.

Harry was all over.

As her mum kept on, the frustration from not being able to have a moment to herself during the past few days flooded over her as though it, too, had been waiting just outside the window. She didn't want the sun. She didn't want the day to start yet. She just wanted to lay in bed for five bloody minutes without the world moving.

"Sorry, Mum. I overslept."

"Right, I thought I'd be nice and let you have a late start. But _noon_? Honestly! You are not a child, Ginny, you are an _adult_–"

"I wouldn't go that far," Ginny mumbled, stubbling out of bed and stepping over a pile Christmas present wrapper to get to the door.

"— it's about time you started acting like one!"

The very last person she wanted to see during the first minutes of the day was Great Auntie Muriel so she headed up the stairs instead of down and closed herself in the loo, ignoring the cheerful "Morning, sunshine!" from Fred as he passed. She turned the dial of the shower and when the mirrors were steamed enough to know that the water was scorching, she stepped inside and yanked the curtain closed.

During the last forty-eight hours, showering was the only time anyone inhabiting the Burrow had to themselves and at that moment Ginny cherished it almost painfully. She'd had the fortune over Christmas to share her bedroom with Angelina Johnson and though she was fond of Angelina, she hadn't been in the mood to share her only source of solitude. This was particularly true after working on a very busy Christmas Eve and arriving home to a house filled with guests and a frantic sister-in-law ready to give birth to a baby whom they had all mistakenly thought would be the second Weasley witch in five generations.

Usually, Ginny didn't mind the noise and chaos. Usually, she loved it. Just not this year.

Great Auntie Muriel, despite her insistence on asking Ginny to expand on the details of her love life every time they came in contact with each other, gave fantastic presents. At least to Ginny. Fred and George stared gloomily at the antique fishing rods that she'd given them, no doubt trying to come up with something funny to make of them, but Ginny gave a feminine sigh when she opened her own gift.

"It's an heirloom, as well," Auntie Muriel said in her low, scratchy voice, as she drew on her pipe and Ginny studied the antique jeweled pendant on a thin copper chain. "Elvin-made. I am going to die, and probably soon," she said matter-of-factly as Molly winced, "And I'm preparing for it by giving away the important heirlooms so the bandit-goblins won't take it all the moment I'm in the ground."

Great Auntie Muriel had been talking about the "bandit-goblins" clearing out her house after she died for as long as Ginny could remember. Who these bandit-goblins were and why they were after Muriel's possessions was beyond anyone's knowledge.

"Thank you, Auntie, it's lovely," Ginny said, kissing her on the cheek. And it was…a small ruby-red stone, shaped like a jagged icicle was wrapped ornately with copper wire and hanging from a very fine chain. Great Auntie Muriel explained that the necklace had once belonged to Ginny's ancestor Enid.

"She was a marvelous witch," Muriel said, her eyes twinkling. "Or so I've been told. Strong … and full of courage - the reckless sort, I've heard. But then, we Prewetts are a long line of strong, courageous witches."

She winked at Ginny, who managed a week smile and couldn't quite meet her aunt's eyes. If this necklace was supposed to symbolize the Prewett family traits of strength and courage, she was afraid they were the very last qualities that came to mind as she thought of herself at that moment.

Her mind flashed to an image of herself one week ago, sitting at this very table, a host of newspapers spread out before her. The words on one of the pages were embedded in her mind: _Ministry of Magic_ _Hiring Certified Mermish Linguist _… _requires global travel, as well as underwater travel to various Mermish establishments…must be certified in Mermish, and fluent in English … based out of The Ministry of Magic in France_…

She'd stared at that job description for a long time. Based in France. _Paris_. The very thought of it had started a fire inside of her that she knew wouldn't be exstinguished easily. On impulse, she had filled out the application, tied the envelope to Maurice and sent it off… and her nerves had been taking a beating ever since. Owls came in abundance as the holidays drew near and by the time Christmas had rolled around, Ginny found herself more anxious than ever about a response… and the threat of another unexpected guest dropping by loomed over her head as well.

Boxing day was no exception. Ginny mingled with relatives and made sure there was plenty of food and drink, allowing herself to peer over her shoulder everytime the post arrived…and everytime the doorbell rang. But no letters had come from the Ministry… and Harry hadn't been by to pay a visit for the holiday. When she opened the door during a hectic hour to find a handsome, blue-eyed wizard standing there, she couldn't help her smile from faltering as all the emotions that were being held under the surface seemed to rear up.

"Bri."

Looking at Brian - familiar, comforting Brian - standing in the doorway, with the snowy fields behind him and Christmas presents in his hands was all she could do not to throw herself into his arms.

"Happy Christmas, love," Brian said, stepping inside and wrapping her in a hug. Ginny found herself holding onto him tightly.

"Happy Christmas, prat," she said, pulling away and grinning. "Come on in. Give me your cloak. D'you want some cocoa? Gingerbread? A seven-course meal?" The happiness to see Brian combined with her jittery nerves left her a bit on the hyper side.

"I can't eat another thing, thanks. Here's more, from my mum." He held up a brightly decorated tin with a large red bow. "It's her fudge, I think."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, remembering Mrs. McGuire's fudge from the many times she had sent it to Ginny and Brian in Paris. She expressed her gratitude as she took his wrist and pulled him towards the staircase. "Come on. I think I've done enough mingling for awhile. I have your present in my bedroom."

Though she had lived with Brian for nearly five years, she purposefully left the door to her bedroom open lest her mother have a fit and say it was 'inappropriate' in front of Auntie Muriel. She retrieved Brian's Christmas gift from her closet and handed it to him with a flourish, accepting hers with equal enthusiasm. She fixed him with a secret smile as she sat herself down on her bed and pulled her legs underneath her.

"Shall we?"

He raised his eyebrows as he dragged her desk chair out and straddled it. "Shall we… what?"

Ginny goggled at him. "Shall we count down from ten? You know… the same stupid, juvenile tradition we've carried on with since the first Christmas in the flat?"

"Oh, that," he said, smirking.

"Yes, _that_," she grinned, peering at him peculiarly. "What's wrong with you, are you tipsy from all the holiday cheer?"

He lifted his shoulder. "Haven't been in a holiday cheer sort of mood lately. I've been working a lot."

"Yeah…that's going around, isn't it? So, what's new, then? We haven't really… spoken in a while. Things have been manic, haven't they?"

Brian nodded slowly but before he could respond, Molly bustled past the door exclaiming,

"Oh, Remus are you leaving? Well, don't get too far, I've a package that I want you to take to Harry."

Ginny paled. The mere mention of his name was enough to send her back to that darkened room in Number 12 Grimmauld Place. A gut-wrenching, sickening feeling spread like fire through her, a feeling she was almost used to. It didn't matter where she was or what she was doing, it came upon her like a vice… and it didn't let go easily.

In her haste, Molly had closed the bedroom door as she had passed and Ginny stared at it lifelessly for a moment before turning to Brian.

"Erm…" she managed. She had to say something. Time was bloody well moving again and Merlin knew it wouldn't stop for anything "So … where were we?"

It was a long moment before Brian prompted, "We haven't spoken."

"Right," she said, her voice dry. "Yeah, it's… it's been manic at the shop, I don't even… I don't even know how much we sold but—"

"Look at you," Brian cut in, staring at her. "It's like… all someone has to do is mention his bloody name and you look like you want to crawl out of your skin."

She went completely still.

"Ginny, I just…" Brian looked at his hands for a moment, shaking his head as he gathered the words, "Sarah and I waited for you in that pub forever. She told me that you were going to stop by Potter's house, but just to drop something off and it should only take a few minutes. But then an hour passed… then two hours. And Sarah was starting to worry. And I knew… I bloody _knew_ it had something to do with him. And there I was, feeling like an arse because I clearly don't know the half of it. Beecause you don't talk to me about him."

Ginny turned away. Over the past few weeks, she had slowly but surely built a steady wall inside of her to block any shame she might have felt about whathad happened that night… and she could feel it getting stronger by the second as she sat there, listening to Brian. She wasn't going to let him break through. She couldn't.

But Brian continued,

"We sat and waited and wondered what the hell was going on. We agreed to meet at the shop the next day and see if you turned up before contacting your parents," he crossed his arms, "And that's when you decided to make your appearance. You showed up at the shop, practically frostbitten, saying that you were fine and that we should reschedule our dinner… and because of the mobs of customers waiting at the door, we had to leave it at that."

Ginny took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. She looked at Brian, wanting to feel badly that she wasn't going to share what he so desperately wanted to hear. He wanted her to confide in him about Harry, about everything. It was a pride issue, it always had been for him. But she wasn't going to give in to that. "What do you want me to say, Brian? I'm sorry that I left you waiting?" She lifted a brow. "It's not as though you've never left me sitting in a pub waiting for you to show up."

There was a long pause. "Right. Well, at least I had the decency to send you owls to let you know that I wasn't lying face-down in an alley somewhere."

Ginny snorted. "You obviously have a selective memory."

Brian furrowed his brow. "Why are you acting so defensive here? Something happened that night and I'm trying to tell you that I'm concerned about you—"

"And I'm trying to tell you that I'm fine. I'll get over it, I have before. It's nothing for you to be concerned about."

Brian stared at her and Ginny looked unwaveringly back before a tap on her bedroom window made them both turn in surprise. There was a moment where they looked at the owl flapping its wings just outside before Brian turned around and shoved the window open. A gush of cold air rushed in, along with a tawny owl carrying an official-looking letter. Ginny stared as Brian untied the letter, his eyes pausing on the Ministry of Magic seal before he lifted them to her.

"France's Ministry? What is this?"

Ginny felt like seething. Now? The letter had to come _now_, and fall into Brian's hands of all people?

"It's nothing," she tried to say, but at his furious look, she shook her head. "Fine. You know, I wanted to wait until I bloody _knew_ something before telling anyone. I applied for a job in France."

She watched him blink, watched him process it for a moment before continuing,

"It was just an impulse that I had… I saw an opening and I applied. And that letter," she continued, swallowing the lump in the back of her throat as she looked at the envelope, "is probably notice that I haven't qualified for the position."

"But," Brian asked as he stared confusedly at the envelope he held, "Why would you apply for a job in France's Ministry? We have a Ministry here."

"I wasn't _looking_ to apply, I just saw that they had a position open for a Mermish Linguist and–"

"Mermish?" Brian cut in with his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah… I know, it sounds like really a great opportunity." Ginny confirmed, knowing Mermish Linguist positions were nearly impossible to come by, "I just saw it and… and like I said… acted on impulse."

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head as though to keep any more confusion from settling in. "Wait a minute. Let me get this straight…you decided to apply for a job - on an impulse - and if you do happen to get this job, you're going to move to another country and abandon Sarah with the business you started two months ago—"

"I would not be abandoning Sarah—"

"Yes, you would." He looked her directly in the eye. "You would. Don't sugar-coat this."

"Look, I went to University to become a professional linguist, not … to sell hair potions to Hogwarts students. I should be doing something with my education."

Brian was silent for a moment. "So, you're bored."

"I'm not bored, I'm being sensible."

"Sensible? Then why don't you just say it, Ginny?" he said quietly as he bent his head to look her in the eye, "You're going back to France because of Potter. And nothing anyone says is going to stop you."

Ginny looked back at him, shocked at his bluntness, trying to keep her emotions in check. She wasn't lying to herself. She knew what was driving her back there. She knew that when you stripped away the glamour job and the exciting city, all that was left was her fear and her shame … and him. It would never be over, this war between Harry and herself. But it was easier to forget him in Paris and that … well, that meant all the difference.

Brian stared at her for a moment, then let out a dry laugh. "I really have to go."

His sarcasm set off a spark of temper in her. "Go on, then," she snapped. "You know, if you were my friend—"

"If I'm your friend, then you owe me an explanation for this," he said, his eyes blazing, "Because I'm on the verge of reporting you to the goddamned Ministry for being under the Imperius. In fact, maybe we should call Potter, isn't mind control his specialty?"

"If I want to move to Paris, then I will," she responded coldly. "And if my reasons aren't respectable in your eyes or anyone else's then I'm sorry. I have to do what is best for myself."

Brian looked at her for a long time. "That's that, is it?"

She crossed her arms and met his gaze unwaveringly. "Yes."

"Then I'm really going," he said, standing and lifting the brightly wrapped present she had given him. For a moment, Ginny felt a spark of fear that this had done something to their friendship that couldn't be fixed. "Won't you at least open it?" she asked, referring to the her gift.

"Like I said." He lifted his eyes to hers and she felt the wall stengthen within her at the keen disapointment she saw there. "I'm not in a holiday sort of mood." He paused for a moment then looked back at her as though he didn't want to leave it like that. "I'll just open it later."

She nodded. "Will I see you for—" she started to ask, but he had already Disapparated.

The letter hadn't been a confirmation of employment… nor had it been a notice stating that she hadn't received the job. Instead, it brought something that she didn't want – more time to wait until she knew if she had the position. She was scheduled for a floo interview on December thirty-first when she would meet with a Ministry representative and give an interview to see if she qualified.

The nerve-wracking feeling inside of her was something that she despised. She didn't enjoy having no control over this. As it was, she had forced herself to believe that moving back to Paris was the only solution for her to live a fullfilling life without the threat of Harry. She _had_ to do this… and the fact that this position was still up in the air wasn't boding well for her resolve.

Still, thoughts of Sarah caused her to pause, allowing the seeds of doubt to grow every so slightly. Sarah was a very understanding friend. She understood Ginny, and she understood about Harry. Ginny felt very strongly that confiding about the night in 12 Grimmauld Place _would_ force Sarah to understand… assuming Ginny herself had the courage say it aloud.

She assured herself, however, that she would have the courage. The process of erasing that night had already begun and if she could distance herself enough, she would be able to tell Sarah everything. She held onto that as the days progressed and New Years Eve came closer.

After working a chaotic day in the midst of customers returning and exchanging products, Ginny Apparated in front of a cheery brick house still decorated with Christmas lights and holly and walked up the path with a nervous grin on her face. It was a nerve-wracking thing, meeting your nephew for the very first time, and she almost smoothed out her hair before realizing that the baby, who was proudly named for Ginny's father, was only a mere two days old and would certainly not judge her on appearances.

The peaceful neighborhood atmosphere evaporated the minute she stepped foot inside the house. There were pounding footsteps and several crashes, but nobody occupying the living room and she looked around in confusion, wondering who had yelled for her to come in, when she was greeted by a five-year old boy… a five-year old boy who happened to be completely naked.

"I told you to get dressed!"

Charlie appeared, gripping what was obviously the naked childs clothing and pulled the giggling boy to the ground. Struggling to yank a shirt over his son's head, he hissed, "Be quiet, won't you, the baby is sleeping!"

But Julian rolled around on the floor, laughing and shrieking as his dad fought to pull trousers over kicking legs. Once he was properly dressed and buttoned, the boy stopped thrashing about and collapsed with his eyes closed and arms spread wide. At once, he pretended to snore.

Charlie looked up at Ginny from the floor. "I once single-handedly took control of a four-ton Swedish Shortsnout and his two-ton baby sister – all before breakfast."

Ginny couldn't help smiling. "It was time you moved on to bigger and better things."

"Is that right?" he asked, standing up. "Come on upstairs. The baby's napping."

"I don't want to wake him," she said uncertainly, bending down to press a kiss to Julian's cheek. Her nephew promptly wiped it off.

"You won't – he doesn't even move." Charlie cast a glance at Julian, who was pretending to twitch in his pretend slumber, and shuddered. "Yet."

Walking into the nursery was like stepping into another world. The walls were splashed with painted clouds that floated in white tufts through a painted blue sky as tiny brush-stroked birds fluttered across the ceiling and landed on a mural of a tall birch tree that stretched up and over the wooden crib. Peaceful forest sounds filled the room and a mural of a babbling brook actually babbled. Even so, Ginny's eyes were drawn not to the elaborately painted walls, but to Emma, who was sitting in a rocker, holding a bundle of blue blankets.

"Is he sleeping?" Ginny whispered. Her heart gave a lurch at the little shock of red hair peeking out from the blankets.

"He's just woken up," Emma said, standing with the baby and shifting the blankets so that a chubby face appeared under a streak of frizzy, ginger hair.

"Oh," Ginny breathed. All she could do was stare. "He looks like _you_," she said after a while, sending a dirty look to her brother who grinned and wrapped his finger around a curl that was sticking up on his son's head.

"One of these days we'll have one who looks like Emma."

"Don't count on it. You Weasleys don't know how to share," Emma replied, and taking Ginny by surprise, she lid the newborn baby from her own arms and into Ginny's without hesitation. "Did you ask her?"

"Ask who?" she murmured, staring down at the little cherub in her arms and becoming instantly mesmerized.

"No, I was dressing Julian when she came in," Charlie answered. "Hey, Gin, d'you want to be Arthur's godmother?"

Ginny's jaw dropped. She looked between her brother and sister-in-law and back down to Arthur, completely taken aback. "I—of course!" she responded before she could think. She looked back down at her little nephew and whispered a tiny hello. "I'm your Auntie Ginny," she said softly. "I promise I'll always give you sweets when your mum and dad say no."

Arthur struggled a bit and Ginny smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his smooth forehead. She thought of Julian wiping her kiss off not five minutes ago and vowed to make sure that little Arthur grew up loving her. She would just have to be around more often, she thought blankly, to convince him that she was indeed much cooler than his uncles. But something very heavy fell into her stomach at the thought. She wouldn't be around. Not if she moved to Paris.

Cradling Arthur in one arm, she let him wrap his tiny baby fingers around her thumb and lifted him closer to lay her cheek against the top of his soft head. She hadn't allowed herself to think about what she was going to miss by moving away but it was hard not to ache at the thought of walking away from this little angel who was gripping her finger with all of his baby strength and know that she would not see him again for months.

On New Years Eve, Ginny told Sarah the very first lie she had ever uttered to her friend and it hadn't been without regret. She told her that she had to leave early because she needed to help her mum with something. She knew that the person conducting the interview would be coming into her fireplace, but that was all she knew, so she planted herself in front of the fire when she got home and waited.

At exactly one o'clock, blue flames erupted and even though she had been waiting for them, she jumped in surprise. A women's head appeared, the fire reflected in thick glasses that were perched on a long nose. Ginny straightened her back and folded her hands on her lap, smiling.

The woman introduced herself as Ms. Staunton, a member of France's Ministry and went on to explain that the interview was rather unique in that it wasn't so much as an interview as it was a presentation being conducted with twenty-five other applicants who had all actually been chosen to participate in the program. At this, Ginny felt her heart sink a slow path into her abdomen. She had been chosen.

"One of the Ministry's top priorities right now is documentation of the second war," Ms. Staunton explained. "It's quite the intensive project as you can imagine. We have committees organized throughout all of our Ministries to gather and properly organize factual information. The Magical Translation departments have the humongous task of gathering information regarding the many different species of the wizarding world.

"The merpeople saw plenty of the war, as you may or may not be aware of. The knowledge of what they encountered is extremely important and we want it. Considering the rather… inconvenient location of merpeople's whereabouts, this will be a Herculean task. I know I'm up for the challenge. The question is: are you?"

She paused for dramatic effect and Ginny smiled, appreciating the enthusiasm as Ms Staunton explained more about the position. It wouldn't be a simple job. There was even a one month training period where the members would be crashed-coursed in underwater travel.

"It's not a mere swimming lesson," Ms. Staunton said matter-of-factly. "You will need to have an intense understanding of the underwater world before making a dive. You will need to brush up on defense and get into physical shape. The hours will be long. The work is intense. But the rewards, in my book, outweigh all of that. You will have opportunities most wizards and witches dream about. You will essentially be visiting cities and towns beneath the surface of the world and be able to speak with not only their dwellers but their leaders as well."

Ms. Staunton went on to speak about salary and benefits but Ginny could barely hear her for the pounding in her head. She felt the fire igniting again and within moments, it was blazing. She knew this feeling. This feeling had resulted in going to University in Paris. It had lead to taking a chance and moving in with Brian when she hadn't even known him very well. This feeling had driven her to opening a shop in Hogsmeade and…and to read the international job section of the Prophet on a whim two weeks ago. Some of the most life-defining moments of her life started with this feeling.

_Oh, God_.

She wanted to sustain the thrill that was coarsing through her. She wanted to grab hold of all the reasons why she shouldn't do this and use them as a shield against the pure, unadulterated excitement that was pulsating through her. She wanted to think about this rationally and not let her emotions overrule.

But before she knew it, the interview was over and she began to move. She stood and paced. She let her mind work faster than it had in weeks. If she had to be there in two weeks, then she would have to start preparing straight away. She needed to talk to her parents. She needed to talk to her brothers. She needed to tell Sarah.

It was nearing seven o'clock. The New Years Eve party was starting at Bottomless Goblet and Sarah would be at the Burrow any minute so that she and Ginny could Apparate together. But Ginny was in no position to go anywhere. She was standing the middle of the chaos that was her bedroom with her empty trunk opened beside her bed and piles of clothes stacked over every surface of the room. She'd been packing… and unpacking … and packing again. One minute she was absolutely going to take the job in France and the next, she could see her parents' disappointed faces when she had told them the news not an hour ago.

But after pacing some more and gazing at the café apron she'd tied on her closet door, Ginny decided that it was worth it… that no price was too big… that she wasn't passing this opportunity for anybody and if they all wanted to call her selfish, then they could do that very thing.

Then she thought of Harry. Was this still _about_ Harry? Was he even a factor anymore? Her brain was so befuddled and her heart was so wound-up that she couldn't find the truth.

But then… the truth was so simple. It wasn't about Harry. This was about her and about this opportnity. She felt in her bones that this was right for her, that this was something she had been waiting for. She ached for it. And if she turned it down, the ache would turn to regret and she hated that more than anything.

She didn't want any more regrets in her life.

Sarah arrived on time at quarter past seven as they had planned and knocked briefly at Ginny's door before pushing it open. Ginny hadn't changed her clothes. Her hair was still a mess. And her trunk was still packed. She'd been focusing with all her might on keeping her life regret-free and vowing that everyone would understand eventually… and then Sarah looked at the trunk.

"What on earth? Are you going somewhere?"

Sarah looked worried. Of course she looked worried. Ginny felt felt a strong pressure in her chest. She needed time to stand still now, dammit. This was her very oldest and dearest friend and she needed time to find the perfect words, the perfect way to explain.

But Sarah, when worried, couldn't stay still. "Why haven't you changed out of your smock? Did something happen? Your mum was quiet when I came in. Is it Ron in Africa?"

"No," Ginny assured her. "Everything… everything is fine. I'm just…. Sarah, I have to tell you something."

Sarah's eyes widened. "Oh, no." She winced as though physically bracing for some sort of horrible news. "What? Whatever it is, just say it, Ginny… I can't take suspense."

Smiling weakly, Ginny said softly, "I've decided to move back to France."

Sarah opened her eyes. "What?"

Her less-than-violent reaction was a surprise. "I… I had an interview this afternoon for a position in France's Ministry. A Mermish translator. And I was accepted."

Ginny looked up and tried not to wince herself. If she had been expecting a delayed reaction from Sarah, then she had been wrong. Her friend's face rang of stunned betrayal.

"You went on an interview? A job interview?"

"Yes. I need for you to hear me out on this, Sarah—"

"I thought you said you were helping your mum with something."

Ginny blinked and didn't understand what she was saying at first, then closed her eyes. "I-I lied to you about that. I'm so sorry. Look, please, just hear me out."

"I don't need to hear you out." Sarah's face was set, her mouth formed one thin line. "I know why you're doing this, so don't bother telling me some pack of lies. This is because of Harry. It's because of whatever happened when you went to see him that night. Isn't it?"

Ginny's heart stopped. She hadn't expected this, not so soon. Swallowing, and holding out her hands, she answered, "It was at first. But everything is different now."

"I knew I should have forced you to tell me what happened," Sarah said fiercly. "I knew the moment I looked at your face that morning. What happened that night, Ginny?"

Ginny closed her eyes. Not yet. "Sarah…listen, I _was_ feeling trapped after that night and I _was_ making decisions from that same old shame and that same old fear. But it's different now. The – the job is a really amazing opportunity, I can't even describe to you how extraordinary. It involves underwater travel, to visit merpeople establishments and document the second war and… it's a huge project and they've selected only a handful out of hundreds of applicants and mine was one of them! I _can't_ pass it up, can you understand that?"

But Sarah had started shaking her head before Ginny had even finished. "You… you haven't a clue how utterly ridiculous you sound, do you? Ginny… do you think I'm stupid? Do you really have such little respect for me?"

Speechless, Ginny gawked at her. "I—What?! Of course I respect you, what are you—"

"You can't respect me. You can't feed me this rubbish about a job and still have any respect for me! It's about Harry, it's always about Harry, don't use the job to cover it up!"

"I know it's about Harry," she replied in a harsh voice. "You don't think I know that? But… it's not _only_ about him, it's me, Sarah, _me_ who I have to do this for."

"Right, I understand how selfish you are, Ginny, you don't have to give me yet another example," came Sarah's sarcastic response.

Ginny pressed a hand to her mouth. "Sarah. My goodness…I thought you would at least try to understand."

"Understand?" Sarah whisperred. "I understand that I have always been there for you, encouraging you, never standing in the way when you decided to act on your little whims. Go to Univeristy in Paris. Open a shop together. Oh, I understand you perfectly, Ginny. I understand that it doesn't matter when _I_ need something – so long as you're taking care of yourself, keeping yourself safe. And from what? From Harry Potter?" she said, her face a mask of disgust.

"Yes, Harry Potter," Ginny said and her voice was void of any emotions at all. She had felt the wall rebuilding itself at Sarah's accusatory tone and it gave her courage. She had to tell her. It was the only thing to make her understand. "Do you want to know what happened that night? Fine. I kissed him." Her hands began to tremble and she refused to look at Sarah. "I kissed him and he pushed me away like I was a—" She broke off and took a deep breath, concentrated on keeping her voice still.

"He'd been suffering from a horrible bout of insomnia and … and I let myself fall right back into helping him. He fought me tooth and nail, and in the end we were just… we were connecting like we used to. We talked about things that I never—I told him about Paris, and the real reason that I went. I told him… a lot." Her throat was dry. She pressed her sweaty hands to her jeans. "But then…oh, God." Every part of her was beginning to shake now. "I fell asleep and when I woke up, it was almost sunrise and we were both so tired and he was so… so defeated and… and then I did it. I knew he wasn't in any state for it, I just… I wanted to do it and that was the only thing that mattered."

There was a ringing silence. She stared at her bed, telling herself to be ready for the pity… and for the shame. But she turned to her friend and saw that Sarah's blue-gray eyes were completely unreadable.

"And now you're running away to Paris rather than face him."

The trembling in Ginny's body was increasing so badly, it felt as though she were standing in the freezing cold. "I'm trying to do what's best for myself."

"That's what you said the last time you went to France because of him. When does it end, Ginny?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowed. "When do you stop searching for excuses to run away from him again?"

"_Excuses_? Did you hear what I said, Sarah, I kissed him!"

"Oh, hell, Ginny, so you kissed him!" she exploded. "So _what_?! You did what you should have done years ago! Do you honestly think that Harry never expected it?"

Ginny stared back in horror but Sarah wasn't finished.

"How will you ever respect yourself after this? When this … this impulse dies off – and believe me, it will – how will you justify that you ran away after the first complication?"

Ginny couldn't speak, couldn't even gather the words to form a coherant sentence. "I… what … what would you have me do, then?" she managed. "R-risk my own pride to stay here? You know… the answer isn't always c-clean and perfect, s-sometimes we have to – to do things to help ourselves no matter if it's … if it's the right thing to do—"

"I see. Well in that case, I won't ask you to stay here. I can handle the shop. I can handle everything. I will work on paying you back the gold that you put into it—"

"No, my goodness, I don't want that – I love that shop, Sarah, I love what we made it—"

"Well, it's mine now so I'll see to it that you're paid back."

"Please, wait!" Ginny exclaimed and began to grasp at the last bit of reasoning she could hold onto. "Sarah, don't you see? I went to Paris and succeeded in forgetting about Harry, and then the _minute_ I come back, the _minute_ I'm alone with him, I can't even be trusted not to throw myself at him! I can't risk that, I can't do that to myself, I can't—" She broke off and pressed her hands to her eyes to stop the tears.

It was a long moment before Sarah spoke. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry for what you must be going through and I'm sorry that I can't support you. But I am so disappointed, Ginny. I am so hurt that you're doing this and that…when everything is said and done…you gave up on yourself."

Ginny tried with all of her might to block the pain from Sarah's words…but she was shattered inside. "I'm not," she choked, "I'm not g-giving up on myself, please—"

Sarah shook her head and said firmly, "If I thought you really were doing this for the opportunity then I'd be packing your bags for you – but you're not. It's because of him that you're leaving your entire life behind. Your family, your friends, _everything_. Congratulations, you finally chose Harry over everyone else, even yourself. I think it's rather sickening to be honest with you. Have a nice life in Paris."

And she Disapparated with a pop that rang like a death knell in the silent room.

Ginny didn't know how long she cried into her pillow before the door to her bedroom opened softly. Without words, her mother's warm arms came around her. She sobbed for a long time after and didn't stop as Molly smoothed her hair from her face. And before Ginny could think about it, before she could do anything to stop it, everything was pouring out of her faster than the tears.

"I don't know what to do. I can't stay here. It's Harry, Mum, it's all because I can't stop loving him. And he doesn't love me. He never has. I'm so ashamed of myself, so ashamed."

"Shhh," Molly soothed and Ginny let her. It had been so long since her mother had held while she cried. Oddly, horrifically, she was reminded of Tom Riddle. Her mother had held her in the same fashion the summer after her terrifying first year at Hogwarts. So many nightmares…so much shame…she had thought she would never, ever be normal again. The only happiness she'd felt that summer was from the first pure inkling of a strong, almost worshipful love for the boy who had risked his young life to save hers.

"I need to go back, Mum," she murmured. "I just need to."

Much later, she awoke with the fuzzy, unconscious feeling that something was wrong. Her eyes felt heavy when she opened them and she strained her ears but nothing met her besides the creaks and groans of her old house. An awful, uneasy feeling settled into her gut. She remembered Sarah. She remembered her new job. She remembered everything in one hazy flash of the mind. But she was too tired to deal with it. She had a headache. Her eyes felt swollen and itchy. The fatigue pulled them closed again and she let herself drift away when a soft, almost inaudible knock came from her bedroom door.

Her eyes opened. Her mind was thrown from its stupor into a state of consciousness. There was someone at her door… in the middle of the night. Her brain took a moment to come to terms. It was probably her mum, coming to check on her again. Or maybe Sarah…? Struggling to sit up, she found the time on her nightstand reading one o'clock.

One o'clock. The new year had come and gone. Rubbing her aching eyes, she managed only to mumble a rough "come in" and pulled herself into a sitting position.

The door opened slowly, as though the one opening it was hesitating and Ginny blinked as a small bit of light seeped in from the corridor.

"Ginny?" came the uncertain voice and it caused all the breath to leave her. It wasn't her mum. It wasn't Sarah. She was stunned into a numb silence. "I'm sorry. Bloody hell. You're sleeping."

Harry was in her bedroom in the dead of night and he was speaking to her. But…no, he wasn't. This was a dream. God, she needed to stop dreaming about him. Her eyes were still blurry from sleep and all the crying, but she could make out his casually-dressed form, the glint of his glasses and hair so black there was a hint of blue in it. And his eyes… the color of his eyes was visible to her in any state of unconsciousness. If this was a dream, then why was he standing as far away as he could without actually being in the corridor? Why was he not joining her in bed as he so often did in her dreams?

Her body burned. Her mind went places that she couldn't help. This wasn't a dream. This was real. And the Harry in her mind was pressing her into her bed while the real Harry was close enough to touch. The massive emotions fought with the heat that was building inside of her and all the while, nothing covered her body but an old undershirt and a pair of flimsy shorts.

And all she could say was, "Are you okay?"

The frown line was visible on his forehead even in the darkness. "Yeah. I'll go. I'm sorry."

"Wait," she blurted and snapped herself away from the emotions and the heat to reach for her wand on the nightstand to light a candle in the midst of the godforsaken darkness that she always managed to find herself in with him. There was nothing but clutter on the nightstand. Fumbling, she spotted her wand tangled in the blankets on the floor, and she leaned far over, stretching her fingertips as far as they could go to reach the bloody thing, managing only to knock it out of reach as Harry took one step forward and tapped the candle with his own wand. Simple as that, they were bathed in soft, flickering light.

And it all came back. The emotions. The heat. The memory of that kiss. She knew he was thinking about it, too, no matter the temperature of his body or the emotions that went with it. She had wanted Harry in so many respects over the years, be it emotional or physical or romantic, but the need that existed in her now was so complete that all she could do was lay down any sense of self-preservation and hope beyond hope that he had come here to tell her that he wanted her too.

He was having trouble speaking. "I…shouldn't have come here like this. I should have waited. I'm sorry."

"What's wrong?" she asked, and her own voice was tiny and weak.

"I had to…I wanted to talk to you. I just saw your friend...Sarah. She came to see me a little while ago. She said that you were moving back to Paris," his eyes found hers as he finished, "Is that true?"

Ginny stared at him. There could be no pretenses, she realized with a horrible, sinking feeling. She couldn't lie to him. "Yeah … I am."

_Ask me not to go_.

The voice in her head had asked him that question once before, a long time ago. And Ginny saw, as the line of guilt creased his forehead and his eyes turned into pools of green pity, that she had once again asked that question in vain.

"Is it," he began and stopped for a moment before continuing, "I don't want this to sound…" He broke off, shook his head. "Does it … Ginny, does this have something to do with what happened the other night?"

His eyes were locked on hers. Her voice failed her. All she could do was nod.

The torture, the guilt, shone from Harry's eyes and it was so much, that she looked away. She fixed her eyes downward, staring at the tiny flower pattern of her pillowcase. The pillowcase of her childhood. It had been with her since she'd been a little girl and it had gone with her to Hogwarts and had lain atop the tasseled, velvet bedcovers on her four-poster. It had been with her in France among the bohemian-patterned sheets that she had bought with her hard-earned gold at a trendy shop in Lacasse. Her pillowcase was worn and charmed together in many places and stained from coffee and it was probably not the least bit comfortable to someone who hadn't been sleeping on it for twenty years. But for some reason, Ginny couldn't bare to part with it. No other pillowcase comforted her the way this one did.

And suddenly, as she stared at the pretty peach flowers, twining with the little leaves, she found herself staring into the face of strength and courage. Absurdly, she thought of her Auntie Muriel. This was it. This needed to end tonight. She was so tired of fighting herself. She owed it to herself to just stop.

Lifting brimming eyes, she looked into his and let him see everything that was inside of her.

"I love you, Harry."

Something very quiet happened to his eyes when she said the words. Moments of silence ticked by. Then she repeated herself.

"I love you."

They were both so still. She sat in her bed gazing up at him and he stood looking back. They remained that way for a long time and at long last, Ginny found herself in a place that wasn't moving at all. Time was finally standing still.

"I'm sorry," she said softly after a long time. "I don't know if it's right to say that. I … I have to say it."

Her last words were barely audible. She wanted to tell him that she wished she could have said it in a different way… perhaps with dry eyes or when he wouldn't be embarrassed to hear it… or when he would be able to say it back. She also wanted to tell him that she just couldn't keep the words inside of her any longer. But it seemed that she just couldn't speak anymore.

"Ginny." His voice was thick and rough as though he, too, was aching. He swallowed, hard. "I don't want to hurt you."

Fresh tears came. His words hurt. They were confirmation that he wasn't there to tell her what she wanted to hear… though that was something that she already knew in her heart.

"I know," she said and looked up at him with what she hoped were comforting eyes. "It's okay, Harry."

Something flashed in his eyes and he looked suddenly wild, as though her words had made him very angry. "No, it's not. Tell me what to do." His eyes came back to hers and they softened. He took a step forward. "Tell me how to make this right."

His response caught her by surprise. In all her years of imagining this moment and the many ways he could respond to her, never had she imagined those words, said the way he had said them. They caused everything inside her to collapse.

Her head dropped and she pressed a hand over her eyes as the tears spilled onto her cheeks. She had thought that she'd already shed all the tears left inside of her. Her bed sagged then and Ginny knew it was because Harry had sat down. She looked at him with eyes that were weak and wet … and her breath shuddered out a sob. Any shame that had been left over from her breakdown evaporated at once. He was right in front of her, a tower of strength… and not turning away while she cried.

Her mind filled with images of him pulling her into his arms and holding her … they would draw back and get lost in each others eyes and—she made a noise of protest in her throat. Those thoughts weren't going to help her get through this.

The tears subsided slowly. They sat together in a silence that somehow felt right … that was so much better than any words he could say. After a while, Harry reached over to her bedside table and took a tissue from the box.

"Thank you," she said, taking it from him and rubbing the soft material between her fingers before lifting it to wipe her eyes. She let her hands fall into her lap and she took a slow, deep breath as her eyes found his again.

"Tell me what to do," he said again. His eyes implored her.

She lifted the tissue and tried to smile. "You've already done it."

There was no hint of a smile on his face. "I'm serious, Ginny."

"I know. And I know you would do anything that I asked. Because you do care about me. I know that."

"Then how do we… how do we fix this… between us. How do we… make it so that, so that we can—"

"We can't be friends, Harry."

She watched him close his eyes, watched him shake his head impatiently. "Yes, we can. We can, Ginny, it doesn't have to change anything."

"It already has," she said, her eyes filling again. "Do you know the state I've been in during the past few weeks? All I could think about was how ashamed I was at what I did—"

"What _you _did?" he exclaimed. "You did nothing. I was the one who acted like a … a righteous bastard. I was the one who wouldn't appreciate that you were there to help—"

"I'm not talking about why I went there, or how much I helped you with your problems," she said almost irritably. "You know what I'm talking about. I did exactly what you accused me of doing for all those years, I…I took advantage of your hurt to soothe my own bleeding heart." She had a sudden image of herself, sprawled on the stairs of the Burrow, the deep red blood soaking through her sweater. She squeezed her eyes closed to block the image. "I wanted to kiss you," she said between clenched teeth, "And I convinced myself that you would want it, too, when I knew full well that you were in no state for it, that you wouldn't want–" She broke off.

"You had no idea what I wanted," Harry said in a whispered voice. "I wasn't exactly … expressing myself the best way, so you couldn't possibly tell—"

"Harry, I'm not going to argue with you," she interupted him wearily. "I should never have given in to my own weaknesses—"

"And _I'm_ not going to argue with you about weaknesses. Or about what you should or shouldn't have done." His eyes were hard and intense and looked into hers directly. "Not when there are a hell of a lot of things _I _could have done differently that night."

She looked at him for a long time. There was a creak from the corridor and they froze and looked at the door. It was a long moment before they relaxed.

"I suppose it doesn't even matter anymore," she said finally in a low whisper. The creak reminded her that they were in the same house as her sleeping parents. "Why I did it doesn't matter. It's the fact that I did. It was like… my first test. I was supposed to be able to resist it all. Staying with you, thinking that I could be the one to save you, thinking that… if I just hoped hard enough, I could have what I wanted in the end. It wasn't supposed to happen the way it did. I was supposed to leave." She shook her head and cast her eyes back to her pillow. "I wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. I just wanted to help you."

She couldn't control the bitterness in her voice and she didn't need to wonder if Harry had heard it when he asked, in a miserable voice, "Is that really so horrible for you?"

Looking back up at him, she realized that he didn't understand. After everything, he still didn't understand her. "Yes," she whispered and wished she had the courage to lie to him. "I become…really weak when I'm around you. I can't control my feelings… and I feel ashamed of them and of myself because… because I'm alone in feeling them. I become someone that I don't like."

Ginny saw the stricken look on his face and she had to turn away. She couldn't watch him being hurt by her words. They hurt enough saying them out loud.

"That's why we can't be friends," she whispered. "Because I can't be your friend and not want more."

Her words lingered between the two of them and because she felt as though he shouldn't have to respond to that, she whispered a regretful, "I'm sorry."

He looked up sharply. "You don't have to apologize to me for that." He swallowed hard and she watched him struggle with himself. "You don't have to apologize to me for anything."

"I do, though. That letter, Harry—"

"That letter," he interrupted her fiercely, "should never have been sent to you. That letter was me being selfish. I wanted you to come back, I wanted you to fix what was wrong with me and I didn't have any thought as to what it might have cost you." He broke off suddenly and Ginny knew that these thoughts had been with him since their fight. His eyes turned inward as he whispered harshly, "I have made a lot of mistakes with you, Ginny. I should have respected your feelings, I should have—"

"Harry, stop." The words issued from her were filled with impatience, and he looked a bit taken aback. Ginny continued crisply, "I'm not going to allow you to use this as another reason to torture yourself. And I'm not going to sit here and argue about who's to blame. It should be me. I should have been honest with you from the beginning; _I_ should have done so many things differently. But I can't take that blame for myself. As much as I love the self-pity," she said dryly, "I know in my heart there was nothing I could have done differently." Her eyes welled again. "But I can apologize to you for not reading your letter because even though that decision was the best one for me… it had no regard for you and for that I am sorry."

She looked down at her pillow as she realized that she needed very much to believe what she was telling him. She needed to let go of the regrets now. Forgetting about it, forcing herself not to think about it or feel it … it wasn't going to work. Maybe telling Harry that she loved him was the beginning… maybe…

"Maybe this is the only way I can let go of you. Owning up to all of it," she said absentmindedly and looked up at him in question as though he could tell her if she was right. But Harry didn't look as though he was in any position to help her with her realizations. He looked as though he didn't know what was happening.

"So … what happens now?" he asked staring into her eyes and forcing her to see that they weren't okay. They looked tired and they looked strained. They looked the same as they had three weeks ago. No, his eyes weren't okay. He wasn't okay. Breathing heavily, he managed, "You just… leave? You move away because of something that—something that has to do with me and I just turn the other way and … and not try to help you?"

"I'm not asking for your help—"

"Yeah, well, I never asked for your help and you were always there!" At her lift of the brow, he shook his head impatiently. "I'm not counting the bloody letter, forget about the goddamned thing, alright?"

He was frustrated and Ginny didn't blame him. She was beginning to finally come to terms with her feelings for him, to finally realize what she needed to do to move on and he was only just discovering his part in all of it.

"Listen to me," she said softly, and when he shook his head in irritation, she touched his arm. For a moment they both stared down at the contact and because her heart began to beat at an unnatural pace, she lifted her eyes to his. "I know," she whispered, "That it can't be easy hearing me tell you about the roll you've played in my life. Why do you think I've refrained from telling you for so long? I never wanted you to worry about me—"

"That is _so_—" He interrupted her fiercely but Ginny squeezed his arm.

"_Listen_ to me," she said so sternly that he looked at her immediately. She wanted to be resolved in making him believe that he had nothing to do with it, as resolved as he was in beating himself up over it. But looking at him… with the state he was in… made everything inside of her hurt. She wanted to comfort him more than anything in the world and it terrified her because she knew that she couldn't, not ever again.

"It mortifies me… no… it _used_ to mortify me… to think about you knowing the truth. But I need this to end and telling you is the only thing I haven't tried, so… I just…." She broke off and removed her hand from his arm, placing it safely on her pillow. "I just want it to be over," she said wearily and felt her shoulders slumping. "I just want to be able to see you and be around you and not…." She didn't finish her sentence.

Harry swallowed again and leaned forward. "I'll stay away from you if you want. I'll do whatever you think, just… you don't have to go, do you?"

Her vision blurred. He looked desperate and she knew what caused his fear. She could hear him that night, that horrible, haunted voice telling her that he wasn't supposed to be happy…that he was alone. The tears spilled over as she watched him now, struggling with trying to make this right when he couldn't even make himself right. Her breath came in shaky gasps as she told him, through her tears,

"Leaving you right now is the hardest thing in the world. Because I know that you need me. And I know I can be what you need to get through it all… but at what price to myself? Harry… it's so dangerous, what's between us. I love you—" She had to stop for a moment. "And you don't love me… and we're both not stable enough to be what the other needs. Please promise me that you'll make yourself better." She couldn't help it, she grabbed his hand and held tight. "Please don't let this be something else that you torture yourself about. We need to figure out how to live without each other."

His breathing was shallow and his eyes were glassy. Very slowly, his hand turned underneath hers and Ginny's heart stopped beating as his fingers twined with hers.

"You should go to France," he said and looked into her eyes with every bit of intensity that she felt in that moment. "And you shouldn't let anyone tell you it's the wrong thing to do."

The tears found their way to the surface again. It was the very thing she had wanted to hear and he had given it to her. "Thank you," she managed, and because it was the last time she would allow herself to do it, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, clinging tightly. She wasn't prepared for his arms to draw her close and hold even tighter, but they did… and they allowed her to relax her grip and just be held.

Moments later, she pulled away because she knew she couldn't bear it if he let go first. Their faces were close and they looked into each other's eyes for a long time.

"We're going to be okay, right?" she asked him in a voice that was surprisingly clear.

Harry's brow was drawn over his forehead and he searched her eyes, seeking an answer. "You will."

"_We_ will," she corrected. "We're survivors, after all." She offered him a shaky smile.

His eyes were full of sorrow as he looked at her … and then, with what she knew was an enormous effort, he managed a reluctant smile of his own. "Yeah."

"Yeah," she said, squeezing his shoulder and pulling back from him. "You should go home… get some sleep."

He ran a hand down his face and nodded, hesitating as he slowly pulled himself from her bed, as though there was something he thought he might be forgetting. Ginny pulled her pillow up and hugged it as she watched him fumble for his wand in the darkness, watched him prepare to Disapparate, then pause.

"Ginny?"

She met his eyes and waited.

"I just wanted to say…look, I'm not trying to…." On a sigh of frustration, he let his shoulders sag. "Just… thanks for staying with me the other night. You helped."

The pain was all around her, but she fought the tears because she just couldn't shed any more. "You're welcome. Good night, Harry."

"'Night."

And she was alone.

Still clutching her pillow to her chest, Ginny sat there for a long time, her eyes finding the candle that was flickering beside her, the candle that he had ignited. She watched the flame move in the darkness, watched the colors of fire twist and change until her eyes felt heavy and her head began to ache. Very carefully, she leaned over and blew out the flame, then laid her head on her pillow. It had been smashed between them during their embrace and it smelled of Harry and of her and she closed her eyes, letting the mingling scents wrap around her until she slipped into a sleep that was filled with dreams… and filled with him.

To Be Continued

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	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Title**: "Seeking Ginny"

**Author**: Casca

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

**A/N**: Hey, everyone. I know I haven't been as communicative as usual these past three months. The fact is that I've been simultaneously writing chapters 13 and 14. My plan is to have 14 finished before July 21st, 2007, but I cannot and will not promise anything. All I can say is that the chapter is not very complicated. No huge plot. No complicated filler. It's all about the characters. And I have the best and easiest time writing just the characters.

As always, thanks to my naggers, I love you! And thanks, always, to Emmyjean.

One month. One _month_. I can't believe this ride is almost over.

Chapter Thirteen

It was a spring morning in Paris when Ginny awoke at five am. Though the creaks and groans of the old flat had been greeting her at the crack of dawn nearly every morning for the past three months, that particular day was supposed to have been a reprieve from rising early. Apparently, however, her body did not care that she was on holiday for the next five days and therefore did not have to rise for work. Having to wake at dawn every morning was beginning to ruin her chances of ever having a lie-in.

Shuddering at the thought, she decided that it was in her favor to allow herself a bit more sleep and nestled further into the blanket… and the heavy, masculine arm that was draped across her waist shifted. Something inside of her went very still.

"You don't have to work today."

Christian's voice was a low rumble of French that brought her instantaneously down to earth.

"I know," she whispered back, and her own French was not nearly as natural as his. "Go back to sleep."

He tightened his arm. She closed her eyes. Somewhere in the recess of her mind she recognized that she should be comforted by the arm…and by the man that it belonged to. But in the first seconds of consciousness, his presence beside her did not serve as a source of comfort at all.

Sighing softly and closing her eyes, she knew it was futile. She could lie as still as a statue and completely give herself over to the fatigue…but she wouldn't fall back asleep. Especially when she was so very aware that she wasn't alone in this bed that wasn't her own.

A few careful seconds ticked by before she slowly slid from underneath his arm, ready to stumble into the kitchen to feed herself… until she caught sight of her face in the mirror. For a moment she stared at the pale, exhausted girl that looked back. It wasn't the first time her stomach had hollowed out from the sight of her reflection lately. Things were a bit…difficult right now. And it was beginning to show.

She went into the kitchen and squeezed between the cupboard and tiny table to fix herself a cup of tea. Her ears were met with the sounds of the last few embers crackling in the fire grate and the irregular drumming of raindrops hitting the window pane as she made her way into the living room to settle into an overstuffed arm chair. She pointed her wand to open the window a crack, muttering another charm to keep it in place.

The windows, like much of the stone dwelling, were so old they needed magic to stay put. The building of tiny flats was situated on a stretch of cobblestone that veered off from a back street in magical Paris. Though the place was very old and hadn't been updated in a while, and though it was rather hidden from the excitement of the city, Ginny hadn't particularly minded it when she'd first arrived in Paris. It was far better than living in the Ministry quarters with the entire division of her department, that was certain.

Fatigue pulled at her eyelids and she took another sip, her gaze landing on a long roll of parchment that was curled on the table beside a waxy candle. Absently, she Summoned the roll and used her fingernails to clean off the drops of wax that had dried on it, her eyes roaming over the words.

_You are cordially invited to witness the joining of two people, Ronald Weasely and Hermione Granger, in the celebration of marriage. _

She couldn't help the light from coming into her eyes nor the smile from pulling at her mouth. It was difficult to believe that in a few short days, her brother and Hermione would actually take the plunge. But it had indeed come together and Ginny was due home that weekend for the celebration.

A short while later, she heard noises coming from the kitchen and she smiled, able to picture his every action in her head. He'd fix tea, spread jam over a croissant, and balance everything on a plate to bring into the dining area. He never changed the time he began his day, kept his breakfast menu the same, and always made his way to the window, tea in hand to look out at the alleyway below.

As she watched him, a feeling of impatience began to grow inside of her. She knew it had nothing to do with him… but lately, it was becoming all the more apparent that she didn't belong here. It had felt good to be hidden away at first but now… things were starting to change.

"The rain will not stop today," he said mournfully a bit later as he stood at the window, watching the drops beat against the window pane.

Ginny smiled a little, her eyes roaming over his tall form, lingering on the way his brown hair curled at his ears. He was handsome in a quiet, gentle way, very much like his manner… but the best thing about him was that he was familiar. She had clung to that when she'd arrived in Paris to find that not everything had remained so.

"You sound like a Seer," she commented, her voice hoarse with sleep as she sent him a tired smile.

Settling himself back in his chair, he set his tea down and lifted brown eyes to her. "Have you not packed yet?"

"No… not yet."

"Last night didn't prove to be productive, eh?"

Ginny shook her head. She had planned to use the evening to pack her overnight bag, but after nine hours submerged in cold, slimy seawater, the warmth of the fire and a cup of steaming chocolate had beckoned her instead.

"What time do you plan to set off?"

"I don't know."

Suddenly restless, she stood and went to the window, opening it wider so that the sound of the rain and the breeze of dewy air came in to join them. She leaned against the wall, watching the raindrops drench the overgrown grass and splash onto the cobblestone path, as she reached absentmindedly to fidget with the pendant that hung around her neck.

"Nervous?"

She turned abruptly. "You know you ask too many questions in the morning?"

He took a slow sip of his tea, closing his eyes briefly as though to savor the flavor. "You'll be fine."

Ginny turned back to the raindrops and let them hypnotize her. A moment later he added mildly,

"That is… if you actually make it there on time."

She rolled her head to the side and gave him a look. "Oh, I'll make it on time," she threatened teasingly, "And you'll have to eat those words."

"I never said you wouldn't," he mused.

Ginny forced herself to begin packing and after a during a very rushed hour in which she cursed her lazy bum for not doing it the previous night, she realized that there wasn't as much time as she'd thought, and that she just might be the one eating her words. Finally, she sent her overnight bag flying into the living room, ready to go…but with the distinct and unsettling feeling that she'd forgotten something.

"You only think that because you packed in such a hurry," came his calm, reassuring voice which did nothing to soothe her.

"No… no, I've forgotten something and… bloody hell, I've no time to wait around and remember it! What is _wrong_ with me, why couldn't I have packed last night, why can't I have acted responsibly for once in my stupid, pathetic—"

"Stop."

She broke off as he took a step towards her.

"You'll be fine," he said in a voice that actually did remind her of a Seer. Quiet and reserved, he possessed a sort of all-knowing quality, giving off an aura that suggested there was much more to him than met the eye.

"Not if it's something important," she insisted. "What are the important things, then – my wedding gift, my undergarments, my—"

"Ginny." His voice was mere inches from her ear. "You need to relax. He respects you, right?"

Her insides tightened. "I have to go. Whatever it is, if it's important, I'll send an express owl, all right? You'll send it back?"

"I'll send it back," he said quietly, watching her with knowing eyes as she gathered her things. She couldn't be around his eyes right now. She wrapped her arms around him to say a quick goodbye.

"Thank you," she whispered, to which he replied with a fond,

"Be good, eh?"

"I'll try," she laughed wearily.

And she began the process of Apparating home for the first time since she'd left.

Arriving at the Burrow in the middle of the night, with nobody there to greet her was a bit strange, especially since the three months she'd been gone seemed to evaporate the moment the dark kitchen came into focus. She tread softly up the steps to her bedroom, feeling as though she was merely Apparating in from a night out, and looked around her bedroom. It was still crammed with most of her things, further encouraging the fantasy that she still lived there.

One thing was different, though. A long, flowing article of clothing floated in the corner of the room, and she lit her wand just enough to see that it was the bridesmaid robes Hermione had picked out. She fingered the silky material as a little excited thrill came through her. Tomorrow was her brother's wedding. Tomorrow, she would finally have a sister.

She stumbled out of her jeans and pulled the Canons t-shirt she was wearing over her head, not even bothering to search through her bag for night clothes before collapsing in bed. She squeezed her pillow until it was just the right shape and reveled in the feel of her bed… and after what seemed like several heartbeats later, she awakened to voices.

From the way the sun was peeking through her white curtains, she knew it was morning. She lay in bed for several minutes, knowing that it was the only time she would have to herself before joining the chaos that, from the sound of it, seemed to already exist throughout the house.

Eventually she would catch up on sleep…hopefully….

But then she heard Fred's voice yelling up the stairs that he was giving Ron one final chance to make a run for it, and she found herself laughing out loud. Tired or not, she wasn't missing anything, and whipping the covers off, she flung herself into the fray.

There wasn't very much time for fun, however, and she found herself rushing back to her bedroom a few minutes later to use her most intense beauty charms to quickly fix herself, cringing every five minutes as her mother burst in and out to help adjust her dress robes. Her looks were not the focus of the morning, however, and she took her Maid of Honor duties seriously, attending to Hermione straight away.

But when she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror, she found a rather impressive reflection looking back at her. The pale yellow robes Hermione had picked out fluttered over her body and brushed her ankles gently, and the white and yellow daisies in her hair contrasted the shade of red rather nicely.

Considerably brightened that she didn't look like the walking corpse she'd come to know lately, she did a little twirl in the mirror.

"Have I mentioned that I simply love these robes?"

"Once or twice," Hermione answered with a smile. She was standing at the window in Ginny's parents' bedroom, watching the workers set up the reception in the garden. Her wedding robes were simple but elegant, and suited her perfectly. "So you're quite sure you know what you're to do, then?" she asked, and turned to Ginny with a worrisome look on her face. "I mean, you didn't miss much at the rehearsal last night, but if you're not sure—"

"Right, that is most certainly _not _something you need to worry about," Ginny said, walking to the window to join her. She took Hermione's hands and played with the little diamond engagement ring on her finger. "I'll do fine. _Everyone_ will do fine. You just focus on you. Nothing else matters, okay?"

"Okay… yes." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, almost therapeutically. "And you'll have Harry, he was there last night, you can ask him to run through everything."

"Of course." Her grin widened. "It's almost time. Are you ready?"

"I certainly hope so."

Ginny giggled. "Shall I go down and inquire when they want us, then?"

Hermione took another deep breath, then nodded. "I can use some alone-time, I suppose."

Happy to oblige, Ginny went downstairs to see how things were coming along. Hoards of people milled about, floating large trays of food or huge crates of flatware. She saw her dad streak past, issuing commands and ducked as a massive pile of linens hurtled towards the back door.

But in the midst of strangers and crates and things flying by, one quiet, unhurried scene stood apart from it all… and Ginny would have missed it had she not stepped on her dress on the way out the door and turned to fix it.

She hadn't seen him once all morning but she'd been very much aware of his presence simply from knowing that he was there, somewhere in the house. But he was before her now, crouched down in front of a patient Julian, carefully fixing his tie. The scene stilled her.

She hadn't really wanted to think about what it would be like when they finally came in contact with each other this weekend. She hadn't wanted to force any rules on herself. She was finished with rules and besides…rules would have demanded that she walk away from him. Rules would have kept her away from him until she was in the company of more people. Rules would certainly not have allowed her to step forward, and make her presence known.

Harry's eyes shifted – and they halted on her.

Heart pounding, she forced a smile. Suddenly, she was the girl who had poured her heart out to him and this was the first time he was looking at her. And from the way his entire body was completely still, she knew he wasn't going to be the one to bring them back to earth.

Somehow, miraculously, she found her voice.

"Hey… how are you?"

"Alright," he replied, his voice sounding strained. "You?"

"Fine… good," she nodded, and then she realized something. The tone of her voice changed when she spoke to him. It became softer, gentler… turned into something completely unique from her normal voice. She wondered that she hadn't noticed this before now.

Julian twisted his head around to peer up at Ginny, then looked back to Harry, whose hands were frozen at the boy's collar. Harry turned back to Julian and peered at him in confusion for a moment. Then he asked,

"Is it okay, now?"

"Yeah, that's loose enough, I can actually breathe," huffed the freckled boy, rubbing his neck. "I think Mum was trying to choke me to death."

Smiling, Ginny crouched down to Julian's level. "How are you? Are you ready for your ring bearer duties?"

"Yes. I've been practicing all week."

"Well, that was good of you," she said, glad that he was actually speaking to her and not running away. Straightening his fringe, she took advantage of his rare politeness and asked, "Will you save me a dance later?"

To her absolute surprise, her young nephew nodded, then reached out and touched her hair.

"You look pretty."

Ginny blinked. For a moment, she could only look into his young, Charlie-like face… and then she completely was done for. "Why, thank you, darling." She kissed his cheek. "And you look rather handsome yourself."

To make matters even more confusing, he grinned at her before racing off into the living room. Still crouched on the floor of the kitchen, she stared after him, feeling as though somebody might shout out a vindictive "April Fools!" any moment.

"I'm… baffled," she said to the doorway and heard Harry breathe out a laugh.

"Perhaps he's… finally come to his senses, then?"

"Either that or he's planning on tripping me down the aisle and wants to throw me off by being polite," she quipped and, still lightheaded from the adoring attention of the six-year old, stood clumsily, stepping on the hem of her dress. Harry hurried to offer a hand, but she waved him off with a red-faced smile. "Thanks."

He cleared his throat. "Well…he'll have a difficult time tripping both of us. We're to walk down together…did Hermione tell you?"

"Yeah, she did. In fact, I'm supposed to ask you for instructions so that I don't make a mess of the entire wedding."

"It's not that difficult," he smiled. "We just…walk. And then you'll stand next to her, and I stand next to Ron during the ceremony."

"I think I can manage that," she said, nodding and inspecting her dress for any soot. "So…."

She trailed off, looking around at the workers bustling in and out before finally turning her gaze back to him. It was devastating to her heart how brilliant he looked… but there was something else. Not only did he look incredibly handsome in his dark formal robes… but he looked _good_. There was color in his clean-shaven face, and his eyes… there was no trace of exhaustion, no trace of anything deeper than a bit of awkwardness.

"Things are… good then?" she asked, her voice changing again.

"Er… they're okay," Harry said, then cleared his throat once more. "They are good, actually." And then he nodded, holding her gaze. "Better."

She hadn't know about the weight on her shoulder…until he said the words and it vanished. She let out a breath and found herself smiling.

"Good…good, I'm glad to hear it."

He smiled back and nodded, still holding her gaze and for a moment, things changed between them. Something came into his eyes, something she recognized from that night in her bedroom, something quiet… something that caused all the chaos inside of her to slow down.

"How is Paris?" he asked finally and she stared at him without a thought on how in the world to answer. Should she tell him that she's lost there? That she has no idea who she was anymore? It was his eyes that did it… she couldn't look at them and lie, not ever again. So she pulled hers away.

"Erm… Paris is… well, it's Paris. It's beautiful."

There wasn't a single lie in that statement, she appraised herself. She saw him nod and the tension seemed to reappear during the silence that followed.

And then everything changed when the back door opened and one of the wedding guests came in. Ginny's eyes lit up. She felt a surge of love for Brian McGuire, whose timing had always been utter crap until this very moment.

"I've come to check on my date," he winked at Ginny and walked past Harry to pull her into his arms and kiss her lavishly on the cheek. "D'you need anything, love?"

"No, no, I'm… fine, just fine," she said, pulling back and glancing at Harry. "You both… remember each other?"

The tension in the room tightened but Harry nodded, and held out a hand for Brian. For a moment, Ginny's heart stopped… and then Brian accepted. They let go rather quickly.

As though Julian was wiser than his years and knew that a distraction was needed, he bounced in, his tie completely askew, and asked Harry to fix it again. Harry lead the boy into the living room none too leisurely.

Ginny grinned up at Brian. "I miss you."

"Likewise. You look absolutely stunning."

"Thank you," she said, and then she reached out and fixed the lapel of his overcoat. "Bri, for everything."

After their argument on Boxing Day, Brian hadn't said another word on the subject of her leaving. Ginny knew he didn't agree with it, but she also knew that he wasn't the type to hold a grudge. He hadn't wasted any time owling her after she'd gone, and continued to do so almost as often as her mum. It was as though he was refusing to let her hide entirely and she felt an obscene amount of gratitude for it… especially since things were certainly not as simple with Sarah.

"A return compliment would be nice."

Laughing, she told him how brilliant he looked. "As always," she added with a wink. "I'm sorry, though, I can't talk to you right now. I've left the bride alone and before she comes to her senses about Ron and makes a run for it, I've got to find out when we're supposed to start and get back to her straight away."

Brian narrowed his eyes. "Have I told you recently to remind me never to get married?"

"Not in the last hour," she said, pushing him out the door. "Go. See you in a bit."

Just then, Emma rushed in, apologizing as she almost crashed into Brian, and told Ginny that the vicar had asked everyone to form the processional queue. It was a bit of a fiasco, gathering the bridal party, particularly because half of it consisted of Fred, George and a six-year old, but at last, everyone assembled in the garden and began to form the queue they had practiced. Just when Ginny was wondering where she was supposed to fit in, Harry appeared at her side.

"We're last."

They retreated to the back where Hermione stood in her white gown, eyes round and nervous, peering out over a bouquet of white daisies. Ginny gave her a beaming smile and reached out to gently fix the white veil that framed her face.

"Okay?"

Biting her lip in that insecure, but excited way of hers, Hermione grinned back, her eyes moving from Ginny to Harry. "I'm glad it's you two I get to see before walking down."

Ginny saw a grin come onto Harry's face as well. She turned towards the hedge, peering down to the lake where two columns of white chairs were set up on the bank, the open row between them leading to a glorious white archway twined with green ivy and white flowers. She could make out her parents and Hagrid's huge form, as well as a few others who were all seated…and at the very front of the aisle, under the archway, stood Ron.

Suddenly, her heart hurt. Her brother. Her favorite brother – she felt guilty for thinking it, but her heart knew the truth – was bloody well getting married. And to the smartest girl in the whole world. Grinning, she reached up to finger her pendant—

And her hand froze at her throat. Her neck was bare.

"Damn," she whispered, looking around and feeling her dress. Had she dropped it somewhere? Had she even remembered to put it on this morning? She felt Harry's eyes on her and she turned to him.

"Harry, I'll be back in two seconds, okay? I have to check something really quickly."

In her bedroom, the chaotic mess from dressing that morning greeted her and she looked at it frantically, not even knowing where to start. She fumbled through the clutter on her chest, took her entire bed apart, leafed through her handbag and satchel. But she knew that she wouldn't find it, that the necklace from Auntie Muriel that she had grown so attached to was back in Paris… or worse, lost in an Apparition queue.

Feeling her wand inside the pocket of her robes, she thought of Summoning it in case it was close by… but if she _had_ left it in Paris and her spell reached it, the necklace would never travel all that way and arrive in one piece… if at all.

"Ginny?"

She spun around. A heavy pressure began to bear down on her chest. Harry. He was standing at the threshold of her door with that same look in his eyes, only now… now they shined with worry. Now they looked even deeper into her than before. She turned away.

Her necklace had been around her neck the last time they had been in this bedroom together. Since then, that little red pendant had been both a cruel and amazing reminder of the courage it had taken to finally say the words to him. And now it could be lost.

"It's only that…they're waiting to start," he was saying, but the tone of his voice suggested that all she had to do was say the word and he would go down and delay the entire thing.

Ginny swallowed and nodded. "Right… sorry."

Putting the pendant out of her mind, she hurried to the door and Harry paused, looking down at her for a few seconds before finally stepping aside to let her pass.

It was a long moment before she heard his footsteps behind her.

_One Month Ago_

Ginny slammed the door to the flat, and the tiny living room came into sharp focus. Such a calm scene shouldn't cause her blood to boil, she couldn't help thinking, but when she looked at Christian sitting in that same chair by the fire, reading the same novel as last night, calmly sipping a glass of wine, she knew there was nothing for it.

Over the years, she had set up several rules for herself regarding Harry. There were many different types, but they followed the main theme of things that she should always refrain from doing. Like thinking about him. Or crying over him. Or – and this was most important – worrying about him.

But on the Apparition trip to Paris, with nothing to entertain her besides her own thoughts, she came to the erratic decision that she wasn't going to abide by any of those rules anymore. Were they really preserving her pride like they were supposed to? The little voice in her head tried to argue, but she didn't listen. She was a bloody adult. If she could sacrifice things like friendships and her own business so that she could get over a man that she already knew she would never get over, then she could damn well admit that she had a problem. And the first thing she would do to fix this problem was to leave all the rules at home.

So she had. Since arriving in Paris, she had kept to her new vow faithfully. If she wanted to think about Harry, then she did. If she wanted to remember the last time he smiled at her, or be terrified that he wasn't okay, or close her eyes and think about the way it had felt when he'd held her, then she let just closed her eyes and let it happen. And most of all she _refused to be ashamed_ _of any of it_.

So when Christian looked up at her with that innocent, indifferent look in his eyes after she had spent two long and difficult months with her no rule policy, she couldn't help the temper inside of her from positively bursting.

"Why did you do it?" she demanded, and her voice was shaking, her breathing heavy from running to the flat. "Why did—why did you let her go?"

There had been absolutely no movement about him before she'd spoken, but afterwards, something even deeper inside of him seemed to freeze. Their eyes locked and for that moment, Ginny saw what she knew was inside of him, what he hid so much better than she ever had.

"You—you were in love with her," she said finally, her eyes imploring, "I know you were, Christian, I _saw _it. I saw it because it was something … it was something that someone like me could see. You could have… you could have made her love you, you know. You never opened up to her, you practically _hid _from her, you never even… if you had just let her _see you_…."

Her breathing was becoming labored. With every word she said, she felt as though she was burying herself further and further under her own accusations. An awful, ugly silence settled into both of them. Ginny pressed her hands to her mouth and knew that even though she directed those dreadful questions at him… it was from herself that she was seeking the answers.

She turned towards the window, her eyes looking past what had become the perfect Spring evening. Earlier, the weather had inspired her. She'd gone to her bridge, thinking that this would be the night she finally mustered the enthusiasm to walk across it. But, no. All she could do was stand at the entrance and feel like she didn't even know the girl who used to find such comfort in the solitude there. She couldn't imagine the sort of memories she would find should she venture across it. She didn't want them.

Two months ago, she had sat on a stool inside the café, watching as Christian poured pomegranate juice into his cauldron, telling her that Aurelie was married… married, and living in Italy with her new husband. Ginny had sputtered and stammered, but it had done no good in trying to even remotely understand how, in six months, someone could meet a person, marry them and move to another country. But apparently, she hadn't needed to understand a thing. Christian had been more than happy to calmly, and with a fond smile, tell Ginny the entire story.

"They met in Rome over a month ago. She married him three weeks later."

Ginny's mouth had fallen open unattractively. "They met in…hang on, _three weeks_? She only knew him for _three weeks_?"

"She's the spontaneous sort, isn't she?" Christian had merely asked, showing no sign of remorse at all as he artfully added a dusting of ingredients to his cauldron. It had been like taking a step backwards in time, watching him mix his concoctions… and something inside of her had begun to hurt for him.

"But you—"

But she'd stopped. The wall had appeared instantly, that forced indifference that could block out any truth. It could have been herself looking back at her.

"You were always the voice of reason," she'd amended softly She had realized at once that his feelings for Aurelie were off-limits. "She used to listen to you—no, she did," she'd insisted when he lifted a skeptical brow. "Even if it didn't seem like it. Didn't you try and talk some sense into her?"

But Christian had given her a pacifying smile that cause Ginny to realize that no amount of talk would have changed Aurelie's mind… the girl had never listened to sense.

"I was going to ask her if I could stay with her for a few weeks," she'd muttered, staring down at the plate of food Pierre the chef had placed in front of her. "Until I find a place of my own."

Christian had looked up in surprise and she'd been once again faced with revealing the news of her new job. There'd been the questions in his eyes that he hadn't asked. It hadn't been long before that when she'd written him all the wonderful details of her new shop.

"Well…I've an extra room. It's very small, but there's a cot in there… you're more than welcome to stay with me until you find something."

Christian's quiet, unassuming voice from that devastating first day in Paris reached her as she stood before him in his flat, her face falling miserably at the horrible, painful look behind his eyes from her unwarranted attack.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry." She pressed her fingers to her mouth. "Christian, I am so sorry…."

"Does he respect you, Ginny?"

Her hands fell from her face. For a moment, she stared in confusion. "What?"

"Whoever he is… does he respect you?"

The blood rushed to her face. Never had she uttered a word about Harry, about anything surrounding him. But as Christian looked back at her, waiting for an answer, she knew it didn't matter. Of course he knew. Why did it always come as such a shock that the people around her knew exactly what was inside of her?

_Does he respect you, Ginny?_

An image of Harry's face came into her mind then. His green eyes were burning, his low, tortured voice reaching the very center of her.

"_Tell me what to do…tell me how to make this right._"

"Yeah—yes," she managed at last in a voice that was so soft, she wondered if he'd heard it. "He respects me." Her eyes were focused barely enough to register the dark jealousy in his.

"Well, she didn't respect me. I was next to nothing to her… a co-worker, nothing more. If I had told her my feelings, she wouldn't have taken me seriously. Certainly not as seriously as I would have needed." At Ginny's aghast look, he lifted a brow and leaned forward. "It's not in her nature to be understanding, Ginny… not when things don't benefit her."

Ginny tried to find the words to tell him that he was wrong… but all she could find was a nagging suspicion that there was a great deal of truth behind what he said.

"She had a good heart, Christian," she told him at last. "I can't think that she would have just … cast you aside without caring."

"I'm not saying that she didn't care." He lifted the glass of wine to his lips and Ginny saw that his hands weren't completely steady. "But she had flaws that ran deep, and she illustrated them by chasing after the two things she deemed most important in life – the undivided attention of a man and piles of gold."

"Weren't you angry?" Ginny demanded, taking the seat across from him and leaning forward. "Weren't you furious with her?"

"Not really. I was mostly furious with myself for loving someone who could… who could do something like that. She said goodbye in a letter." He laughed dryly, shaking his head and running his fingers through his thick brown hair. "A letter."

"God." Ginny felt her blood boil again. She thought of Harry's tortured eyes when she'd said the words to him, the way he had sat across from her and stayed with her while she cried. He had been perfect, she realized, closing her eyes, almost feeling his arms around her, his fingers twining with hers. He had been utterly perfect to her.

When she finally opened her eyes and looked back at Christian, she became intensely aware that Aurelie wasn't capable of anything Harry had done for her that night.

"Didn't you… Christian, didn't just want to just—"

"What? Make a fool of myself? Because that's what chasing after her would have accomplished. Look, you and I are different," he said with a smile. "You can stand up to him, can't you? You can look him in the eye and tell him what's in your heart." He lifted a brow. "What? I'm right… aren't I?"

Eyes wide, she stared back at him… and then she started to laugh. "For the love of _Merlin_, is there some neon sign around me that flashes all of my secrets to anyone who even bothers to look at me?"

"I didn't think I was 'just anyone'," he said, offering a smile that Ginny returned.

"No, you're not just anyone."

He nodded, looking at her closely. "I do know you." He heaved a sigh. "And I'm quite sure your plight is not so obvious to someone who hasn't gone through a similar thing."

She found a dry laugh. "I'm quite sure it is."

For a long time, there was silence, and then he asked, in a voice that was very soft,

"You told him?"

Ginny lifted her eyes. An uncharacteristic vulnerability had settled around him and she knew she would never forget the look in his eyes. He was intrigued, almost desirous, ready to devour her response and perhaps wonder if he could have done the same.

It was so unfair, she thought to herself. So bloody unfair that some people… people like Ron and Hermione never had to feel uncertain or ashamed about their feelings. Some people just fell in love and lived in ignorant bliss and others… others were left to wonder why they couldn't find happiness where they loved.

"Yeah… yeah, I told him," came her voice, soft and distant and she elaborated because she knew it was something he wanted to hear. "You just arrive at a point where you can't hold it in any longer. You've spent years being angry at him, at yourself… _ashamed_… and you come to a point where you just… need to let go of it."

"And have you… let go?"

He asked the question with that same devouring look. He needed to hear what she couldn't tell him.

"I don't think I'll ever let go of him," she said honestly. "But maybe… perhaps letting go of the shame and the secret and… and everything else…will help me move on… right…?"

The fire in the grate crackled softly. Christian stared blindly at it, not even attempting to offer an answer. Ginny stood and went to the window, looking out to the blackness of the night. There was silence in the flat, until Christian spoke, his own voice sounding distant and unlike him.

"I came to that point. But I was afraid, you see. I didn't show her that I could care about her like no one else could. I didn't let her see that I was good for her …and that she was good for me. She made me laugh." He illustrated by chuckling softly. "But I was too afraid to do anything about it. I was afraid that she would reject me. Simple as that."

Staring blindly at him, the image before her eyes changed into one of herself. She was a teenager, sitting alone on a garden swing, trying not to watch Harry. He laughed with Ron and Hermione and Rebecca… and still Ginny sat alone, trying not to catch his eye, trying so goddamned hard to be invisible.

And then the image faded… and it was replaced with a much darker one of Harry and herself. She was kissing him in that black corridor and he was shoving her away, rejecting her kiss, rejecting everything she tried to pour into him. Rejecting her.

It was a moment before she realized that Christian was standing… and it took her even longer to realize that he was closing the distance between them. And suddenly, she knew the sensation of being seen… actually being seen for the first time. She had a fleeting view of his brown eyes… and then she was being touched… and held… and finally, kissed. Closing her eyes, she emptied her mind and her heart… and let him take what he needed.

The wedding reception was a whirlwind of dining, dancing and, in the case of most, drinking. The large tent was made from a lovely white fabric and was scattered with flowers, fairy lights and floating candles, but the two spotlights of the evening were the stocked bar that was set up on one edge and the large wooden dance floor that took up the middle.

Breathless from dancing three songs in a row, Ginny plopped down in a chair next to Brian, and promised, "Next dance is yours, I swear."

Taking a swig of his drink, he gave her a look from the corner of his eye. "If I'd have known I would have to share you with every bloke at the wedding, I would have reconsidered this date duty."

Because she was actually having fun, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "You'll have my full attention from now on."

"That's better."

They shared grins and chatted for a bit, their attention turning back to the dance floor every so often. Ginny sipped her butterbeer and watched her brothers make fools of themselves to an old Weird Sisters song, laughing as George twirled Sarah so many times that her smile faded and was replaced with a distressed look as she nearly collided with the couple next to her.

Things had been a bit awkward between Sarah and Ginny, but the cold shoulder she had expected to receive from her best friend had not made an appearance. Though she was dying to know how the shop was coming about, she hadn't brought it, or anything having to do with Paris up to Sarah during their brief conversation. She was glad that Sarah was speaking to her at all and didn't want to bring up sore subjects.

George performed a complicated dip then, causing Sarah to nearly fall on her backside and Ginny laughed. It seemed that Brian was watching the same thing.

"Are they… together, then?"

"Hmm? What do you mean?"

"Sarah and your brother. Are they going out?"

"Oh… _oh_." She began giggling and didn't stop until Brian lifted an unamused brow. Sobering, she clarified, "No…_no_, they're not going out. George thinks of Sarah as another sister to torment, that's all. The twins have always loved taking the mickey out of her."

"Right," he said, but for some reason, her answer didn't seem to appease him.

"Why?" she asked absentmindedly, taking a sip from her bottle. When he didn't say anything, she glanced at him, but he didn't return her look. In fact, he merely watched Sarah and George with a look in his eyes that caused Ginny to straighten.

"Brian."

He took a long pull from his drink and crunched on an ice cube, a habit she'd always found annoying. "What?"

"Why do you ask?"

Lifting his shoulder in a shrug, he replied, "Just curious."

But Ginny watched him with narrowed eyes until he finally looked back, lifting an eyebrow. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No."

"Then why are you looking at me?"

She considered him for a moment, then tilted her head to the side. "Why? Can't I look?"

His blue eyes sparkled. "You can do more than look, love, I've been telling you for years."

Smiling sweetly, she showed him her empty bottle. "I'll have another, thanks."

Rolling his eyes, he went off to the bar as the song ended to tumultuous cheers. George forced Sarah to take a bow with him and then the brown-haired witch spotted Ginny and hurried over.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, taking the seat Brian had vacated. "Your brother is absolutely mad,"

"Common knowledge," Ginny agreed. "Brian's getting a drink for me, d'you want one? I'll signal to him."

Sarah declined and when Brian returned with the drink, Ginny barely had the chance to thank him before he mumbled something about speaking to Bill, and walked away again. She watched him cross the dance floor, oblivious to the admiring gazes of several twenty-something girls Ginny recognized as Hermione's Muggle relatives.

Still preoccupied with Brian, Ginny sipped her drink and tried to focus on Sarah… but the only thing that came to mind as she sat next to her best friend was the little shop that she hadn't had the heart to ask about. Abandoning any sense of pride, she cleared her throat and decided to take the plunge.

"Right, I'm just going to ask you and have done with it. I'm dying to know, Sarah - how is the shop?" She turned towards her friend eagerly. "How are things there, have we—have you been busy, are sales up, how is… everything?"

A helpless smile began to spread across Sarah's face. "We've been busy, yes. Things have been… really good there."

"Really?" Ginny asked. "You wouldn't … you wouldn't just say that, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't. Sales are fantastic… and I've .. well, I've some new products that I'm working on…."

And just like that, Sarah launched into an in-depth explanation of product development. Incredibly relieved at first, Ginny listened to her best friend… but she was unable to help the nagging jealously from creeping in.

"Well," she managed, after Sarah stopped to take a breath. "I'm really happy to hear that. I just… I can't help but be really proud of that place." Then she rushed to add, "I mean I know I don't have any rights to it anymore. But I… I'm just happy and relieved and… and really, really proud that it's doing so great."

"You should be proud," Sarah said quietly. "If it wasn't for you, it wouldn't exist."

Ginny looked at Sarah for a long moment, then puffed out a breath. "You shouldn't give me any credit."

But Sarah looked back at her with a raised brow, her eyes honest as always. "Ginny, I need to tell you that…that I'm okay with everything. No, don't interrupt, I want to say this because… well, it's been weighing on my mind. You leaving… well, it was actually really good for me."

At Ginny's blank look, she hurried to say,

"Look, I'm not saying that I wasn't furious. I was. I'm probably still am…well… just a bit, in any event. It's only that when you left, I was forced into running the shop on my own and…d'you want to know what's really mad? I found out that I could actually do it!" She gave a little laugh. "I mean the twins are always in there, checking on things, and I couldn't manage without Rosemary, but… well… I dunno, it's a bit cool, isn't it, that I was the one who was terrified of even opening the place and now I'm running it on my own?"

There was a pause and Ginny's voice sounded strange to her ears when she responded, "It's very cool."

Sarah gave a smile. "So… that's why I'm going to tell you that the shop will always be half yours… and that you're always welcome to come back and work with me again. You know… just in case you should happen to decide that… well, that Paris life isn't for you."

Ginny looked down. Her constricted throat wouldn't let her say much, but she did force a strained, "Thanks, Sarah."

"Your welcome," Sarah said simply and took the butterbeer from Ginny's hand to have the last sip.

"You cow," Ginny laughed, glad for the excuse to move things to a lighter note, "Now Brian will have to get me another. Don't you have any pity for him and his poor tired legs?"

Sarah giggled. "That's all right, I'll just use it as an excuse to buy his coffee."

At Ginny's curious look, she explained,

"I always see him in that little coffee shop on Wellington. I stop there every morning before work and he's usually buying coffee, and he _always_ ends up paying for my tea! I dunno how he does it, I think he knows the barista or he's arranged a signal with him – but that's stupid, why would he go to all that trouble just for my silly five-knut tea? I dunno, but the point is by the time I step up to the counter, he's already done it and—"

While Sarah continued to chat without taking a breath, Ginny's eyes found Brian, who was now speaking with her dad. The group of Muggle twenty-somethings had inched closer, but for some reason he wasn't paying them any mind. Something wriggly began to slither into her stomach and didn't stop until she felt physical pain shooting up her arm.

Petite as Sarah was, she had an amazingly ironclad grip and exemplified this by nearly stopping Ginny's blood flow when she gripped her arm, her voice rising from its continuous stream to one of panic.

"Oh, no! Oh, no, here comes George, he'll want to dance again and I don't think my back can handle it."

At this, Ginny turned to Sarah in exasperation, "Tell me, why on _earth_ did you agree to come as his date?"

Sarah huffed out a sigh. "Because – well, remember that silly bloke who used to frequent the shop to buy things for his nonexistent girlfriend?"

Completely confused, Ginny nodded, thinking she should have known the query would result in another long-winded story.

"Well, I made the mistake of telling him that I had a wedding coming up and he came in every day after that, trying to flirt but he's so bad at it, honestly, and one day Fred and George were in there checking up on things, and George said that I should come as his date because he didn't want to be tied down tonight and most importantly, didn't want to look like a loser with no date—"

"What a gentleman," Ginny interjected dryly.

"Well, Rosemary was insanely jealous, I think she fancies him, but that's another story—anyway, that odd bloke was eavesdropping and I wanted to get rid of him so I agreed to come with George and thankfully he hasn't stopped in since, so it worked and – no, I can't dance anymore, George, please—"

But her plea was not to be taken seriously. Ginny grabbed Sarah's arm and tried to hold her back, but George pulled the protesting witch onto the dance floor for more torture.

Shaking her head in laughter, Ginny wandered towards the bar and helped herself to another butterbeer, pausing to chat with some people she knew from Hogwarts. There was something distracting her however and when she spotted Brian, standing at the edge of the tent, now speaking to Charlie, _still_ avoiding the Muggles, she knew exactly what it was.

"Hey," she said, sliding up to them, and slipping her arm through Brian's. "What are we talking about?"

"Grown-up stuff, wouldn't interest you, Gin," Charlie said, trying to mess her hair, but she ducked.

"Speaking of grown-ups, it might be of interest to you that I just spotted your son with a wand. I dunno who he stole it from, but – "

She didn't have the chance to finish as Charlie flung himself into the crowd without a moment's hesitation.

"Remind me never to have children, love," Brian merely said, taking a swing of his Guinness.

"Of course. Actually I was lying to Charlie, I just wanted to get you alone."

His eyes glinted even as he tipped back his bottle. "Is that right?"

"Mm-hmm. But only because I wanted to let you know that it might be of interest to _you _that there are several muggles of the female variety who might be _very_ impressed with a little McGuire magic."

He shifted his eyes. "Is that so?"

"Oh, yes. And I'd like to say that I'm not the sort of date who will demand your undivided attention… you know, in case you feel the need to, ahem, explore additional opportunities."

"Wow," he said mildly. "Remind me to go on more dates with you."

She giggled. "Seriously, though, why don't you go talk to them? Have some fun?"

He lifted his shoulder. "Eh…"

"What's that? Eh?"

He made a dismissive gesture with his drink before taking another long swig. "Keeping things low key lately."

"Really?" she asked in surprise. That wriggly feeling inside her stomach increased. "Why?"

Another shrug from him and Ginny couldn't help but frown.

"What's going on, Bri?"

"With what?"

"With you. It's not like you to keep things low key."

"Well, perhaps I'm getting tired of it all. Think about it. What'll happen if I talk to one of those girls? I'll spend all night trying to get under her skirt and when I do – which I know I will – there won't be anything there that I haven't seen a million times."

She cleared her throat. "Right. Don't mince words or anything."

"I'm trying to ask you: what's the bloody point? What's the bloody _fun_ of it when it's so bloody easy?" And as though he hadn't said it enough, "Bloody, buggering hell, I'm _bored_, Ginny."

That wriggly feeling inside of her was turning rather solid. She couldn't stop herself from blurting, "So you've decided you want to find something a bit more challenging, then?"

His eyes slid to hers, and he paused in the act of swallowing. Lowering his bottle slowly, he regarded her warily. "What do you mean?"

She drew in a deep breath. "I… have no idea. You tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"Oh, I don't know… perhaps why you pay for Sarah's tea everyday." At his impassive look, she continued, "Or why you're suddenly interested in who she's dating."

There was a momentary pause before a cool laugh escaped him. "It was an offhanded comment, love. Try focusing your detective skills on something that actually requires it."

She pulled her upper lip into her mouth and bit hard. "I'm right aren't I? Bloody hell. I'm right. You—" she lowered her voice. "You've set your sights on Sarah."

"You've lost your mind," he said irritably. Ginny moved to stand in front of him so that he couldn't walk away.

"Brian, I know you—"

"Apparently not—"

She grabbed his arm to stop him when he started to walk away. "We need to talk about this."

"There is nothing to talk about, Ginny," he warned, leveling cool eyes on her. "Drop it."

But she couldn't drop it. She was panicking. "You cannot possibly think that she would be interested in you, Brian—"

He laughed again, but this time it sounded cruel. "Thanks, Gin, I knew I could count on you to point out the obvious."

"Bri, wait—"

"Drop it, Ginny. I mean it." And he stalked off towards the bar.

When Ginny went outside the tent for some fresh air, she saw that she wasn't the only one with the same idea. Couples wandered around hand in hand, and small groups of people lounged on the ground, talking and laughing. She inquired about the time from a nearby couple and almost goggled at the answer.

The night was almost over. It had gone by so quickly. Tomorrow morning she would have to begin the process of Apparating back to Paris.

Staring up at the Burrow as it towered against the night sky, she found her bedroom window. Despite the worry inside of her from her exchange with Brian, she couldn't held the warm feeling when she thought that there was still one more night left to spend at home.

Home.

Looking up at the white curtains billowing in her bedroom window, she was reminded of the day she had arrived in Paris three months ago. After unpacking her clothes in Christian's extra room, she had set out on a walk … and found herself staring up at the little flat she and Brian used to share. Paisley curtains had hung in the window, evidence that the place belonged to someone else and she'd left there with a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, suddenly anxious to be away from the blatant changes that insisted on welcoming her back.

At once, Ginny glanced back to the Burrow, to the white material that hadn't changed because she hadn't wanted it to. There was comfort in knowing that some things stayed the same. Some things were solid. So was Paris, she thought to herself. With Paris, she just had to make the effort… but it would prove good in the end if she really tried.

Somehow, she had managed to wander all the way to the lake where the chairs and archway were still set up from the ceremony. She took a seat in the last row, picking up one of the leaflets that had been left behind and to give her hands something to do, she leafed through.

Thoughts of Paris brought Brian McGuire into her mind. It was very frightening, the idea that Sarah was occupying his thoughts… if that was indeed the case. She certainly was not going to allow him to entertain the idea for very long, in any event, but even as she thought about setting his straight, that wriggly feeling appeared again. It was giving her the notion that things weren't as simple as setting his straight… and that was an even more frightening prospect.

Preoccupied with her thoughts, it took her a moment to hear the footsteps behind her. She twisted her head around … and received the shock of her life.

It was Christian… and he was walking towards her as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Something reared up inside of her at the sight of him. Letting out a strangled noise, she stood and hurried to close the distance between them.

"Whoa," he said, after she'd flung her arms around him. "What a greeting."

"I can't believe you're here!" She pulled back to fire questions at him. "Did something happen? Is everything okay? The flat, did something—"

"Easy," he said in that reassuring voice, letting his hands fall down her arms to squeeze her wrists. "Nothing is wrong. I'm fine. The flat is fine—well, same as always, I don't expect you'd call it fine, but…."

Ginny couldn't help laughing as he stood before her, joking about his flat while the wedding tent and the Burrow stood in the background. It was as though both of her lives had suddenly merged into one.

"I just … I can't even…how did you get here?"

He winced sheepishly at her question, and the reaction was so unlike him that her brow lifted in astonishment.

"I Apparated," he said simply, looking as though he didn't quite believe it himself. "I just… I just Apparated and here I am." His grin was a wide, masculine smile that would probably cause half the women inside the tent to sigh, but Ginny burst into happy laughter, exclaiming,

"Well, come on, then! We'll get you something to eat, drink… though it won't be as good as any of _your_ drinks."

"Thank you. But I don't think I'm going to stay. I haven't slept in… well, I can't count the hours. The reason I'm really here is… I wanted to tell you that I've decided to take a week-long holiday. In London."

Ginny couldn't help the dumbfounded look. "A holiday? What brought that about?"

"Well, I saw your—oh, that's right, before I forget." He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that made her heart leap. "You forgot this?"

She took the necklace from him and pressed it to her heart. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you_! I thought I may have lost it." She reached up to clasp it around her neck, then wrapped her fingers around the cold, red stone before looking up at him. "You've _not_ gone on holiday just to bring this to me, though?"

The grin came back, transforming his face. "It played a part, actually. I felt awful when I saw that you left it. I know how fond you are of that necklace. I had an idea that I should bring it to you… but of course I didn't give it a second thought. Why would I?" He smiled at himself. "But then I stopped… and I actually began to think about it. You know, I've never been to London? I've actually never been anywhere except Paris. So… well, it was some kind of impulse that I've never…I don't even know why, but _something_ made me owl Pierre, saying that I needed to take personal time away from work. I waited for his return owl, thinking he would deny me and that would be my excuse… but he gave his approval."

She clasped her hand to her mouth and laughed. "An impulse that you've never felt, then? I suppose my insanity is rubbing off on you?" She squeezed his arm and then gave him a wink. "Hey, if there are any jobs you want to apply for with England's Ministry, I'll have dad put in a good word."

He laughed. "I'll let you know. For now, I'll just keep to being on holiday for the first time in my life."

"Your first holiday? Well, you had better make it good, then. D'you need any suggestions on where to stay, what to do? I know Brian has an extra room, shall we ask him or….?"

"No, I've actually already booked a room by owl. A place called…The Leaky Cauldron?"

Ginny smiled. "You'll be in good hands there. Ask for Tom, he'll make sure you know where to go." Then her smile faded a bit. "I wish I could stay here with you. I'd love to show you around."

"I think I'll be okay." He reached up to finger the pendant that now hung around her neck. "I wanted to see you first, make sure you knew that you'd be arriving home to an empty flat tomorrow."

"Yeah."

And then, as though Christian breaking out of his norm and actually traveling all the way to England had awakened her as well, she suddenly knew what she needed to do… something that she had been realizing for a while now.

"Actually, I… I've been thinking that when I do get back, I'm going to start looking for a place of my own."

Their eyes met and Ginny saw comprehension come into his. After a moment, he nodded and gave her a smile. "I suppose we've leaned on each other long enough, eh?"

"Yeah…yeah, I suppose we have."

"Where will you go? Will you stay in Paris or try to find something closer to the Ministry?"

"I'm not going to leave Paris. It's my home… well," she amended. "It's one of my homes. I'll look for something in the city." She paused, smiled. "In the very middle of the city."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "That suits you more than my little hovel, I think."

"Watch it, I do like that hovel."

Their laughter lingered for a few moments and then, they were left with a bit of awkwardness. It felt odd to think that they were breaking up when it wasn't clear what exactly they had been to each other in the first place. Being with Christian had been a first for her in many ways and though they had found something that they wouldn't have been able to find elsewhere, their friendship had been the most important part of what they'd shared… and that wouldn't change, she was sure of it.

She felt the tips of his fingers on her cheek and she lifted her face to accept his kiss. Hugging him tightly, she bade him goodbye with the promise to send a long list of everything he should do in London. He chucked her under the chin once and she gave him a grin before he Disapparated.

It was a few moments before she began to trudge up the hill towards the tent and as she did, she felt as though her feet were planted more firmly on the ground than they'd been on the way down.

When Ginny returned to the tent, the guests were swarming the dance floor in droves. It seemed that everyone knew the night was ending…time for one last dance to draw the evening to a close.

It occurred to her that she hadn't danced with Brian at all, and with a sick feeling, she weaved her way through the crowd to find him. She sent a wave to Hagrid and her mum, who were dancing the most awkward of slow dances due to their respective heights and smiled as Emma twirled Julian, his tie long gone by now, and who moved with a sluggish enthusiasm that suggested it was way past his bedtime. But when she stepped up to the bar, expecting Brian to undoubtedly be there, all she found was Fred, George and Lee Jordan involved in a rather intense-looking drinking contest.

"Have you lot seen Brian?" she asked them loudly over the their raucous laughter, then winced as Fred draped a clumsy arm around her neck and breathed a liquor-laden breath her way.

"Sorry, Gin, haven't seen the bloke. Hey, Gin – d'you want to camp out with us tonight? Before you go back to Paris? We've got fireworks. Lotsssofirrrreworkssss," he slurred.

"Sure, count me in," she promised just to get him off and ducked under his arm, her head cloudy from merely inhaling whatever he'd been drinking.

After conducting a search of the entire tent, she came to the conclusion that Brian must have given up on her and gone home. Standing before the massive wedding cake, she stared blindly at the abundance of sweets that surrounded it, thinking that she would make a special trip tomorrow morning to Brian's flat. An apology for ignoring him for part of the evening was the first order of business and the second … well, that would probably have to be ugly. There was nothing for it. She would get to the bottom if it before returning to Paris.

Paris. An unprecedented spark of excitement trickled down her spine. The thought of going back suddenly didn't seem so bad. In fact, knowing that she would begin finding her own place and buy her own furnishings was rather exciting. It almost felt as though she would be returning there for the first time since she'd left University now that she had a more positive outlook.

"Er…Ginny? Did you hear me?"

The voice edged through her thoughts and she look around in surprise. It was Harry. He also stood before the table of sweets with an empty plate in his hand and a nervous smile on his face.

"Hey," she said, her heart rate quickening instantly. "Sorry, I was… off somewhere else."

"Right, right," he said and gestured towards the table. "I was just…wondering if you'd tried anything."

"Oh." She peered at the cakes and puddings scattered over the table. "Actually, I haven't."

"Well, Hagrid recommended the treacle fudge." He snorted. "But any fudge in the country must seem gourmet compared to his."

She grinned. "I was outside for a while. Have you gone out there, it's really a nice night."

"Yeah, I just came back in." He lifted his plate. "Got hungry."

"Right," she smiled. "So… what do you think?"

He glanced up at her… and his eyes stilled on her face. "About what?"

"I…" She couldn't help the stammering. "The sweets."

There was a pause that seemed to last an age and then,

"Right." He pulled his eyes away. "Right." He cleared his throat and looked down to the table. "I'll probably just …chocolate cake.

She let out a slow breath and reached up to finger her pendant. "It's Mum's."

"Yeah… I know."

Unable to stop herself, she watched him slowly, methodically, slice himself a piece of cake, his eyes steady on his task. Her breathing began to return to normal as a distant memory came into her head. She and Harry had stood at a table of sweets before. They had both been in their formal robes and had met unexpectedly at the Auror's Convention.

Somewhere in the recess of her mind, she marveled that it had only been one year since that night. It seemed as though a great deal more time had passed since she'd been fixated on capturing an interview with Madame Millicent Mardeax… Madame Hag. She couldn't help remembering how she'd begged Brian to skive off his lesson and accompany her to the Ministry for her appointment… the appointment that she'd missed upon running into Harry.

Harry. Once again, his eyes were yanking her out of her daydream. She flushed, realizing that she'd been openly watching him.

"Where's… erm… Brian?"

She cleared her throat. "Actually, I think Brian's gone." When Harry lifted a brow, she said, "I didn't pay very much attention to him all night. I'll have to…talk to him before I leave tomorrow, make sure he's not angry."

"You're leaving tomorrow?" he asked in surprise. "To go back?"

"Yeah," she said, glancing at him. "I have to, there's a dive on Monday, I can't miss it."

"Right," he nodded, and carefully sliced a bit of cake off with his fork. "D'you like your job, then?"

"Yeah… it's different." She told him about one of the unpleasant encounters she'd experiences with some merpeople she had met in a small lake on the outskirts of Paris. "Keeps things exciting, I suppose."

"Seen any great places yet?" he asked, taking another bite.

"We've mostly just stayed local. No exotic places just yet. Soon, though."

She slid her pendant back and forth on the thin chain distractedly as she thought of the destination assignment this summer in Santorini, Greece. The two top-performing teams in her department would be granted to go and Ginny's team had been striving for it from the beginning. She'd never been to Greece.

Spotting Ron and Hermione swaying slowly on the dance floor, she couldn't stop her thoughts from leaving Greece to join them. Ron was sloppy on his feet and Hermione was trying to keep him upright… but she wasn't angry. In fact, she was laughing in utter abandonment as Ron belted out the words of the song in her ear.

"Look," she said, so transfixed by the scene that she nudged Harry's arm. From the corner of her eye, she watched him find the two, watched a slow smile spread across his face.

"Thank goodness they put up with each other."

"Why do you say that?" she asked on a strangled laugh.

"Because I don't think anyone else in the bloody world could live with either of them."

Ginny burst out laughing. "Well, you'd know better than anyone, I suppose."

He grinned, and it happened so suddenly that Ginny and Harry had no time to prevent it. Ron appeared from nowhere, grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck and yanked him clumsily onto the dance floor. Completely helpless to stop it, Ginny, along with most of the guests, watched as Harry tried to wrestle out from underneath Ron's none too affectionate headlock as Ron yelled something about his bloody best friend not bothering to dance at his wedding. The two of them thrashed about, knocking into people and creating such a ruckus, that Ginny couldn't help the shout of laughter. She clasped her hand to her heart and amrveled at how long it had been since she'd heard Harry laugh so hard.

It wasn't long until Hermione interjected. She pushed between the two of them, wrapped her arms around their shoulders and pulled them into a makeshift, three-person dance.

Watching the three of them together was like a remedy for the soul, Ginny realized, smiling so hard her face hurt. As more grinning faces came into view, she knew she wasn't the only one who felt at home in that moment.

Just then, Harry tried to elbow Ron and have Hermione to himself. Ginny laughed…and as though the sound had carried over the music and through the crowd, Hermione looked up and caught her eye. She felt a brief stab of panic as the bride's eyes lit up and at once, Hermione pulled herself from the men and hurried to Ginny.

"Come on." She grabbed Ginny by the hand. "You, too."

"No, Hermione—"

But Hermione's grin pleaded. Smiling helplessly, Ginny allowed herself to be pulled onto the dance floor.

"My sister!" Ron announced, puffing his chest out proudly and promptly stepped on her foot. Hermione leaned into her other side, closing the circle of four and they stayed in their embrace, grinning and laughing, and trying unsuccessfully to shout to each other over the music. And after a while, her laughing eyes found Harry's.

_We're okay_, his eyes said and she struggled to keep her gaze locked on his as she bumped into Ron and stumbled on her dress. _We're okay._

She knew she would never, ever forget what it felt like, standing in that circle, having her brother on one side, Hermione on the other… and Harry. Her family. Her home.

She had a fleeting view of Harry's wide, helpless grin before something heavy smashed into the lot of them and sent them tumbling into each other. Fred and George had charged the dance and planted themselves on either side of Hermione, proclaiming her an official Weasley, swaying her violently side to side.

They were a big, loud group of bodies and laughter, and when the song ended, the loss Ginny felt was immense. They stayed in their huge embrace for a few moments, and she took the opportunity to wrap her arms around Ron and hold tight. In a way, she had lost him today. She told him that she loved him, adding an amused,

"Prat."

He pulled her hair in response.

The DJ announced that he would play one more song before the night ended, and the crowd began to move again, filling the dance floor to the point of bursting as the slow strains of yet another love song began to play. Their dancing group dispersed and Ron pulled Hermione into his arms, Fred found Angelina and George went chasing after Sarah. Ginny watched her entire family find partners, everyone from Hogwarts, even Hermione's muggle relatives who had been a bit wary of their new in-laws. And in the midst of swaying couples, as though they were the only two people standing alone, she and Harry locked eyes.

For a moment, they smiled at each other... and then an awkward energy settled between them. Her heart began to race when he cleared his throat, and after a momentary pause, stammered,

"D'you, er… want to dance, then?"

Her face flushed. All she could do was mutter a throaty, "Erm," and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking down at her hands and praying that he didn't see her burning cheeks. From the corner of her eye, she saw something at the entrance to the tent…and when she looked, her heart sank.

Brian stood alone, nursing another Guinness, and looking as though he would rather be anywhere else. His eyes were fixed on something across the room… and with a sinking feeling, Ginny knew it was a plain, brown-haired witch who was now dancing with George. He hadn't left her, she realized miserably and glanced at Harry to find that he had followed her gaze to Brian. Heart in her throat, she watched him look back to her quickly, and force a smile.

"It… looks like he didn't leave after all," Ginny said.

"Right," he said, nodding. "You should… you should go ahead, then."

Her heart hurt. Dammit, there were no rules anymore. She could throw caution to the wind and dance with Harry if she wanted. This was her chance not to hide. But then she looked at Brian… and she knew what was right.

"Thank you," she said to Harry, her voice softer, gentler. "I…I'll see you later, then?"

"Of course," he nodded, avoiding her eyes. And then he left.

She closed her eyes briefly, and on legs that felt like water, she walked to Brian and tried her best to put Harry from her mind… and when she neared and her best friend dragged his eyes from the dance floor, her heart began to hurt again in a very different way.

"I believe this dance is mine," she smiled, and watched a slow smile come over his face. Then she laughed when he dragged her to the dance floor.

The crowds of dancers made it impossible to fit in, so they stood on the edge and Ginny wrapped her arms around him easily, resting her chin on his shoulder. She certainly would not have felt so at ease in Harry's arms, she thought, and her eyes slid closed for one tiny moment, imagining…and then Brian's voice brought her back.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

She smiled and pulled back to look up at him. "I did. I'm sorry that I'm an awful friend," she said, and watched a reluctant dimple appear in his cheek.

"You're not."

"Oh, I am. I'm dreadful. But you still love me, I know you do, so I'm not too upset over it."

He laughed softly. "As long as you're not upset. So… when am I going to visit you in Paris?" he asked after a moment and she smiled.

"I would absolutely love it if you did. But one thing – if you come, we can't visit the old flat."

He drew his brow. "Well, of course we can't go in, but I'd like to at least walk past the building… why are you shaking your head?"

She heaved sigh. "It's only that… well, there are paisley curtains hanging in the front window now."

"What the hell is paisley?"

"It's ugly."

He smiled. "Does that make you upset, love?"

"Of course it does!" She hit his shoulder. "And I can't believe _you're_ not upset. I was devastated when I saw them. It was almost like… we were never there or something."

He squeezed her arm. "Some of the most fun I've ever had was in that flat, you know."

She thought of all the noises she'd heard coming from his room late at night, the many mornings of waking to find a gorgeous witch in her kitchen. She snickered. "I can only imagine the sort of fun you had in that flat."

"I meant with you," he said, and there was a hint of irritability in his voice.

Ginny lifted her eyes to him. "I know." She squeezed his shoulder. "I was only joking."

He nodded, his blue eyes distracted. "Right…sorry."

Chewing on her lip, she continued to study him. She didn't want to think what she was thinking. She didn't want to think about the way he had looked at Sarah all night or the way Sarah had described his behavior in that coffee shop every morning. She didn't want to think that he actually… that he actually thought he might have _feelings_ for Sarah. It was absurd and it was wrong… but though it had begun to infuriate her earlier, all she could think about now was that he might be hurting.

"You know," she began, knowing what she wanted to say, but not knowing how, or where to even begin. Instead, she found herself muttering, "I suppose… I suppose I haven't been a very good friend." She felt his eyes turn to her, but she kept her gaze past his shoulder. "I don't mean tonight, I mean… well, I've been rather caught up in myself, haven't I, these past few months? I'm sorry, Bri. Really."

There was a pause, and then he tugged her hair. "Don't worry about it, love… you've had a bit of a hard time, haven't you."

She sighed. "I just want you to know that you can talk to me… about anything… and I won't judge you and I'll just… listen. I'll just listen. I promise."

It was perhaps the longest silence she had ever heard from him. After a while, he laughed softly. "Are you saying that you'll actually… _not_ talk for a few minutes?"

She grinned. "I am. And watch it, I'm _nothing_ compared to Sarah when it comes to excessive talking."

It was out of her mouth before she'd even realized to stop it. Brian's entire body tensed. And her eyes slid closed. "Oh, Bri," she muttered softly, letting her forehead fall on his shoulder. "What is going on? Sarah?"

His breathing was becoming labored. For the longest time, she stayed where she was, not even hearing the music, a million different questions running through her head. She could never ask them, she realized. She could never really know what was inside of him – that belonged to him.

And then, he said in a voice softer than she'd ever heard from him, "You don't have to worry, Gin… I'm not going to do anything about it."

She lifted her head to look at him, but his gaze remained over her shoulder. "That's not the only thing I'm worried about. Bri, I don't want you to get hurt." When he said nothing, she found herself asking, "How long have you… I mean, is it… serious?"

There was a long pause… and then his entire demeanor changed. He straightened his shoulders. He shook his head. He cleared his face of any emotion.

"Look, let's not talk about this right now," he said and when she looked at him miserably, his hand tightened on her back. "I'm all right, Gin. I don't bruise easily. And I've no intention of letting… someone else get… bruised, so… let's talk about what we're going to do after this party ends. Because I'm not going home, you can't force me."

All she could do was stare at him… and then she let out a long, slow breath. There would be no getting to the bottom of anything, she realized. This wasn't simple…this wasn't clean. Everything about him said it wasn't. To press the matter now would certainly not accomplish anything at all.

Resigned that she would have to return to Paris without fixing what was wrong, she squeezed his shoulder again, and said, "Right…okay. Well, my brothers are setting off some fireworks after the wedding, so we can watch if you'd like."

He lifted a brow. "The famous Weasley's Wizard Wheezes fireworks? I won't miss them. What then?"

She lifted a brow. "Dunno. We'll just… see where the night takes us?"

"Good show," he winked.

The last few strains of the song played out slowly. Suddenly, she didn't want to let go of him. Letting go would make it real, this … thing that was happening to him, that they hadn't worked through. The DJ said a few final congratulatory words to Ron and Hermione before taking his leave, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

"You know, your reputation is absolutely correct," she told him. "You are possibly _the_ best date a girl could ever ask for."

He threw back his head and laughed. "You're right about something else, too," he said loudly, leaning close so that she could hear him.

"Right, what is it?"

"I still love you," he winked. "Can't help myself."

Laughing, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders—and from across the room, a pair of green eyes slammed into hers.

Ginny stilled. The look on his face was frightening. All she could do was remain motionless in Brian's arms, under Harry's accusatory eyes—

And then it was over. He was walking swiftly towards the flap of the tent to disappear outside. And then everything began to happen faster than she could keep up with. Brian pulled away quickly, trying to mutter an excuse to leave as Sarah flew up to Ginny, grasping her arm and complaining that her feet were about to fall off.

But Ginny didn't hear either of them. There was a roaring in her head. Her eyes devoured the flap of the tent as people began to pour out.

"Can you hear me?" Sarah was shouting. "Are you going to watch the fireworks? Oh and by the way, have you _smelled_ your brothers? It's like a Firewhisky brewery or something – not that I've even been in a Firewhisky brewery," she assured Brian, who managed a faint smile.

Ginny paused in her chaotic state to look between her two best friends. One was possibly in love with the other and had suddenly turned into a stone statue in her presence and the other had no clue whatsoever and – as though Brian wasn't uncomfortable enough – lifted her foot to adjust her shoe, causing the strap of her dress to fall off her shoulder.

Heaving sigh, Ginny slid her arm through Brian's and squeezed his wrist. "Yes. We're going to watch the fireworks. Shall we go down together?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, but can I lean on you, this blister is going to pop any moment."

"Sarah, a simple charm can cure it, here, let me—"

"NO! Not without rubbing bamboo powder on it first, Ginny, are you _mad_?! You know, this blister is the exact size of the wart I'm going to curse George with when he's least expecting it."

Brian snorted a laugh and Ginny giggled. Sarah, however, frowned.

"Well, it's nice to know that my sore feet are the cause of so much hilarity," she said, but her lips twitched, giving herself away.

Still laughing tiredly, Ginny gripped Sarah's arm, keeping her other linked through Brian's and with the three of them, made her way outside the tent and into the cool spring night.

To Be Concluded in Chapter Fourteen

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	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Title**: "Seeking Ginny"

**Author**: Casca

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

Author's Note:

Okay, I have gratitude to hand out. First off, to everyone who ever reviewed Seeking Ginny, including my faithful naggers. You all kept me going for – how long? – let's not count. Thank you, very much for all the reviews, the supportive comments, the not-so-supportive comments, countless nags, praising emails, threatening emails, song inspirations, outtakes, and just about any form flattery and encouragement. You all rock hard.

To Splatt, for helping this fic sound a helluva lot more British. Brian thanks you for not letting me turn him into an All-American jock and for giving him something stronger to drink than gingerbeer. ;)

To Emmyjean, without whom this fic would be a great deal longer (read:crappier), and who read, fixed and commented on every single draft of every single chapter, including the last one while she sat at my desk (sending me gleeful looks as she hit the delete button) eating egg rolls from the same restaurant where this fic was born… er, how many years ago? Again, let's not count.

The idea for this final chapter came with the very first version of this fic and throughout the ma-a-any drafts of the story, I always found a way to keep it in, because I love it so much. It certainly moved around, though, starting out at the beginning of the fic and changing to various parts of the middle, and is now, fittingly, in the final chapter. I hope you enjoy the ending to this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. There will be an epilogue in the near future to tie up loose ends left behind by all the side characters who made this story so fun to write. But make no mistake, this chapter is about Ginny finding what she seeks, the true aim of the fic.

On a final note, I can't say enough how much it has meant to me these past few months, writing these final chapters, racing against time to finish, and knowing that getting to the end would mean the ultimate reward: book seven. The reason Harry Potter fanfiction is so rewarding is because it gives fans something to help soothe the wait for the next book and I feel both happy and sad to say that Seeking Ginny provided me with that up until the very end.

So here's to this weekend. The wait is over, my friends.

Chapter Fourteen

The warm summer air skimmed over Ginny's skin, rustling the strands of hair that had come loose from the haphazard knot pinned on top of her head. She scrawled her name across the parchment and sat back in her chair to read her short note, barely hearing the hum of chatter and clanging dishes that surrounded her. It was the sort of cloudless, sun kissed day that caused every witch and wizard in the city of Lacasse to flock outdoors and the little outdoor café, which overlooked a bright, trendy shopping quarter, was bustling.

Reaching out to nibble on a buttery croissant, she glanced up as Maurice hooted and stuck out his leg, blinking at her expectantly. As though he had sensed that his mistress would be needing his services, he had joined her at the café not ten minutes after she'd sat down, his beak full from the previous night's hunt. He was a smart owl, she thought to herself, petting him where he liked it. But even as he hooted again, perhaps to let her know that reading the three short sentences more than ten was times was a bit foolish, Ginny merely continued stroking the top of his head, and let her eyes find the beginning of the letter again.

The note was simple and scrawled casually on a small piece of plain parchment. It had been an impulsive thought this morning as she had rolled out of bed and saw the date on her calendar. After stopping at the bakery to pick up a small box of sweets to attach to the note, she'd settled herself at the café with parchment and quill and let the impulse lead the way. But nearly thirty minutes later, as she ran the plum feather across her chin thoughtfully, she remembered that having an impulse to do something and actually doing it were two very separate things.

How often she forgot that.

A distraction arrived then in the way of a laughing group of teenagers, passing through on flashy-looking broomsticks. Ginny let herself watch them as they tried to eat melting ice cream cones while riding in speedy circles around the quarter, shoppers darting out of the way and vendor owners shouting after them. Giving a little laugh, she finally cast her eyes back down to the letter… and her smile faltered.

"It's Harry's birthday today," she mumbled to Maurice. "Should I send him a birthday wish? Or should I just…not?"

But her owl merely turned his head to peer at her upside down.

"I know it's stupid to be so conflicted." She chewed on her lip. "I mean it's only a small gesture on his birthday. Nothing more."

Maurice hooted then, and it sounded like a low purr. Ginny studied him for a long moment… and decided to stop thinking. She attached the note to a small box of sweets and, ignoring the nervous twist in gut, tied everything to Maurice.

"Be fast, all right?"

With another encouraging _"hoo!"_, her owl dipped his wings and set off into the clear blue sky.

Pushing aside the uneasy jolt in her stomach, Ginny took another bite of croissant. It was okay, she reminded herself. It was just a birthday wish… and a rather big step, she acknowledged with a little twinge of pride.

Unable to stop the sudden smile, she nodded when a server came around and offered to refill her lemonade. Nestling further into her chair, she took a long, draining sip of the refreshing drink and closed her eyes briefly.

Work had been hectic over the last few weeks and she was beginning to feel the repercussions on her body now, during the two day reprieve her team had been given to recuperate from their heavy July schedule. After months of touring only local lakes and rivers, Ginny's team at the Ministry had finally been assigned research assignments outside of France. There had been several excursions to various bodies of water during June, but the two explorations that had been lined up for July had been the longest and most intense yet.

The first had been in Ireland where the team had spent nearly ten full days touring the bottom of the Celtic, where they'd met some of the most disturbing-looking merpeople Ginny had ever seen. The second assignment had been accompanied with a great deal more excitement than the first, with the opportunity to spend more than two weeks on the beautiful island of Santorini, Greece.

Visiting Ireland had been a fantastic experience, and Ginny had instantly felt at home in the pubs and small inns that reminded her very acutely of England… but Santorini had been an experience unlike any in her life. Work had been tough, the hours long, but nights had been open for the team to do as they pleased and she had taken advantage of every single evening. She savored the wonderful food at dinner, felt the foamy waves of sea crash against her feet during walks on the black pebble beaches, and basked in the salty sea air on her little balcony before bedtime.

As the teenagers circled around again, distracting a nearby toddler who decided it would be fun to try and grab hold of one broom's bristles, Ginny rubbed a finger absentmindedly along her nose where the sunburn was already beginning to peel. She spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around the shops and vendors and after a few hours of wonderful laziness, she paid a visit to the grocer to pick up something to fix for dinner, then hopped on her magically-enhanced bicycle to fly home.

Her flat was located on a road called Rue Perenelle, in a historical section of the city. It was named after Perenelle Flamel, who had occupied a flat there in the fourteenth century. Due to its history, the area often overflowed with crowds of tourists gazing up at buildings, referring to leaflets and walking slower than normal to take in the architecture.

"Have we another live 'un, then?" came a formal, gruff voice as Ginny sealed her bicycle to the fence with a tap of her wand and glanced behind her.

"Hello, your grace," she said, smiling at the translucent, pearly ghost who had spoken.

He had introduced himself when Ginny had first moved in as his grace, the Duke of Poldark, reminding her that even though he was not among the living anymore, he was still a nobleman and should be addressed as such. He quietly haunted the basement of her building, and spent most afternoons entertaining tourists outside.

"The sky and the crowds suggest a lovely summer day," he said pleasantly. "I see the sun agreed with you in – where was it, then? Ah, yes, I remember. The Greek Isles, is that right?"

Ginny grinned as she walked up the cobblestone path to the stairs leading into her building and stopped for a moment to chat about her trip. An hour later, she remained in the same place, now seated on a cool stone step, regaling the ghost with bit by bit explanations of her voyages below the sea as the sun made it's slow descent into the distance. It was reassuring to know that she did not have to work the following day, although there was quite a bit of sleep she needed to catch up on if she didn't want to pass out at the bottom of Lake Lachrymose during her next dive.

"Any news on the Apparition Laws?" she asked when she was left with no more stories to tell.

The Duke nodded importantly. "They're saying that the rumors are true… by autumn, all of the International Apparition Laws will be collapsed."

Ginny stared. She had thought it was just a rumor… but apparently, it was looking as though to be true. No more Apparition Laws meant no more queues and that meant visiting home in the blink of an eye. The thought should have caused her a great deal of joy… but she felt an odd sort of apprehension that the barriers between France and England would soon vanish.

Before excusing herself, she asked the duke, "Do try not to let any live 'uns near my dragon flowers. I haven't fed them yet and they tend to… erm, bite living flesh when they're hungry,"

The duke peered down his nose at her small patch of dragon flowers and other various plants that she'd been attempting to keep alive all summer. It had been an ambitious project and hadn't gone over too well, considering that she hadn't been home to supervise them for nearly all of July…not to mention that one particular flower kept eating the others.

Her apartment consisted of only one room aside from the tiny kitchen and even tinier bathroom. But there were nooks and areas were the ceiling sloped to create small crannies, offering charm and, more importantly, places to put her things. Her bed occupied the largest alcove and another nook held a small round table and three mis-matched chairs - her very first dining room. Huge shafts of light poured in from the high windows, reflecting off the different angles of the ceiling, and casting an almost golden glow to the dark wood floor and red paneled walls.

Her favorite part, however, was the wall leading towards the kitchen. She had started pinning photographs to it when she'd first moved in and a few months later, nearly the entire wall was cluttered with moving faces of all the people in her life. She liked the little flat because it was her own and the things inside of it – such as an overstuffed chair Brian had given her from the old flat, and a bookshelf from her bedroom at the Burrow – made it a culmination of all of her worlds in one crammed, inviting space.

Later that night, after showering and just before climbing into bed, Ginny went down to feed her dragon flowers, hoping that they hadn't eaten all of the _other_ flowers. But alas—

"You rotten scoundrels, you've killed my purring petunias," she exclaimed, taking in the horrid sight of the slaughtered petals lying in a heap on the dirt. Little red bulbs shaped as dragon snouts straightened at once when she spoke and began aiming angry snaps at thin air. "Oh, the poor, _innocent_—well, I'll have you know that I fully realize where the problem lies in this little garden," she said to the dragons, who reared up at her tone, "and it's _you_ lot—_ouch_!"

She cried out as the dragon flower launched, planting two razor-sharp teeth into the flesh of her hand.

"Right, that about does it," she said furiously, yanking out her wand, but something on the walkway caught her eye. A dark figure was standing just behind the gate… looking directly at her.

Startled, her heart clapped once against her ribs and for a moment, she merely peered down the little pathway, wondering if she should call out. But then her eyes adjusted… and from across the small path, through the slits of the tall fence, sure enough, her eyes found his.

There was a silent, momentary pause, and then,

"Hey."

Her eyes closed briefly. His voice.

"Hi," she found herself calling back a moment later, sounding dumbfounded, and after another lengthy pause in which a view of herself in her ripped Cannon's shirt and mismatched pajama shorts flashed painfully in her head, she hurried down the walkway, careful of the cobblestone beneath her bare feet, and approached the gate.

He was right there, her mind screamed, as she reached for the lock and tapped a code against it with her wand. She could literally feel him through the fence as though his body exuded some sort of palpable energy. The lock sprang free at once and she pulled the heavy, wrought-iron gate open with a long creek.

His eyes. They weren't supposed to be in Paris, she though dimly, as he spoke again with a simple,

"Hey. All right?"

"Yeah," she said, returning his nervous smile…and because it was all she could think to say, "Happy Birthday."

A warm light came onto his face. "Thank you." He paused. "I hope you don't mind my showing up here. I got your note and the sweets…thanks for that, by the way… and I just decided to come by and… see you."

Her heart rate quickened a bit at his choice of words. "Oh… no, it's fine," she rushed to assure him, stepping back to let him through the gate. It closed with a resounding bang. "I was just surprised, but then… you don't need to wait in queue to Apparate, do you."

"Right and… well, it was either come here, or let Fred and George drag me to every pub on High Street to celebrate, and I've, er… done that one time too many this month."

"Have you?" she said on a laugh.

He nodded. "It's… not something I enjoy reliving, but yeah."

She smiled, and tucked her hair behind her ears. "D'you want to come in?"

"Oh, no, I don't want to put you out or anything, we can just… it's nice out here."

"It is," she agreed, feeling more than a little relieved as she gestured towards the stairs.

"You just came back from Greece, right? Yesterday?" Harry asked as they walked up the pathway and Ginny looked up at him, and asked,

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Your mum. It's been the talk of the Burrow. Everyone is really jealous."

"Ah," she said, sinking down onto one of the steps, "Yeah, it was really beautiful. The work was hard, but it was worth it."

Harry didn't join her on the steps, but merely stood with his hands in his pockets, and peered up at the building. "Your new flat?" he asked, glancing down at her.

She lifted a brow. "I take it Mum has been talking about that as well?" she asked. "She does go on, doesn't she, that I'm living in a strange city with _nobody_ to protect me."

"Actually, she's had only good things to say about you. I asked her for your address after my birthday dinner tonight."

"Ah," she said again, flushing for some reason as she imagined that conversation, then drew her knees up to wrap her arms around them. "Did she make all your favorites?"

"She did," he nodded, watching her. "D'you miss her?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "But don't tell her."

Smiling, he took a seat next to her on the step. "I won't."

They looked out to the road, where a group of people passed by, their eyes roaming over the building as they muttered something about the architecture. After a while, Ginny summoned some iced butterbeer from her cupboard upstairs, and a somewhat easy silence slipped between them as they drank from the dark bottles.

"Things have been… okay here?" he asked after a while, finishing off his drink.

She had been playing with the red polish on her toenails where it had chipped a bit, and she looked up at him and nodded. "Yeah… they have. Work has kept me really busy."

"D'you like the people you work with?" he asked, and she nodded, and told him about her team of five linguists.

It was odd, she couldn't help thinking as they chatted back and forth about things ranging from work to the family to the Quidditch World Cup which was approaching … but she and Harry seemed almost… at ease together. Of course, the moment she thought it, his elbow accidentally brushed hers and sent electric jolts shooting through her body. But that was to be expected. It was just comforting, she decided, to know that even though things were still awkward and probably would always be a bit, they could still do simple things like…drink a butterbeer together.

"I'd like to take something back," she said suddenly and he turned to look at her curiously. "Something that I said to you in my bedroom that night."

His eyes changed at the mention of it, and she looked down, brushing a little fly off her knee.

"When I said that we… can't be friends…" She trailed off carefully, trying to think of a way to put it. Suddenly, she wanted him to know everything she had been vowing to herself. How she had done away with her rules, how she knew that she had been hiding from him and she wanted to stop. And most of all she wanted him to know that if he felt the urge to stop by her flat in Paris, he didn't have to search for an excuse to do so.

But when she glanced up at him, he looked her with quiet understanding in his familiar face… and she knew that she didn't have to explain anything. It was Harry and there were some things that he understood. So she looked back down to her toes, and said simply,

"I want to take that back."

There was a momentary pause, and then he said, his voice a bit strained, "Right, well… it's not something that you can control is it?" he asked, and she looked up to find his gaze fixed unwaveringly on something across the path. "I mean… we just sort of … are what we are. Nothing can change us, can it?"

He brought his eyes back to hers and a delicate chill crept down the back of her neck. It was absurd, and yet…the deadpan look on his face and the unwavering tone of his voice made her feel oddly challenged.

"I suppose not," she said finally. She wanted to be frightened by the sudden shift in energy between them… but she found herself meeting his gaze head on.

"There's something I've been thinking about," he said abruptly.

It was difficult, but she kept her eyes steady on his as he paused, and then continued, "It has to do with something that you told me… when I was in the hospital that night… after Devon Forthwright was killed."

She tried not to swallow as her mind flew back to that time. But it was nearly impossible to think about the things they had talked about in that hospital room…especially while his eyes were on hers.

"You said something about… about that museum in France… the Louvre?"

There was a moment where confusion leaked in, and then she murmured, "What?"

He looked down, and Ginny watched him pick up his empty bottle and twirled it between his hands. "You said that you've always wanted to go in there at night," he muttered, "After they closed, without the hassle of the crowds… didn't you?"

"I…yeah, I suppose I did."

He waited a beat. "Right, so…why don't we go?"

Ginny looked at him. "To the Louvre?"

"Yeah," he said, and she watched him continue his slow twirl of the bottle back and forth between his hands… until his hands weren't touching it anymore but merely floating it between them. "Why not?" he asked, glancing up at her; the bottle dropped as he turned his eyes away from it, and he caught it between two fingers.

"I… of course we can go," she said, and her heart began to pound. "When?"

He looked up at her, his turn to be confused. "Er… now?"

Her brow snapped together. "Now? But…" And then, as though he had placed an enchantment on her, she understood at once. Her heart increased its tempo rapidly. "Oh… oh, you mean… d'you know someone who can let us in after hours?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, not exactly. I looked into it before I came here, and the security system seems rather simple to bring down from the outside. Once we're in, I can reset the parameter alarms and—"

"Wait." Her eyes widened. "You mean… break in?"

"For… lack of a better phrase…."

"And if… by some chance, we happen to get caught breaking into this very, very important museum…?"

He looked stung. "We won't get caught."

Ginny simply stared. He wanted to break into the Louvre—the _Louvre_, whose security was supposedly tighter than that of the Ministry's—because she had once made an offhanded comment about visiting after closing? It was absurd, and yet…

"You want to go, don't you," came his voice and Ginny realized that he was watching her with a knowing smile in his eyes.

She did. And she realized that the shocked bewilderment that had taken her over was covering up quite a bit of fear.

"I … I don't know, I…" It was all she could manage because that… _thing_ was creeping in suddenly… that ugly, familiar thing that always made her so ashamed to be tempted by him. It always came back, she realized dully, and wrapped her fingers around her pendant at her neck. No matter how deeply she vowed not to listen to it anymore, no matter what she told herself…when faced with Harry… it was always came back.

"Hey."

She jumped. He had nudged her arm lightly. She realized that she had been staring into space and was certain that the look on her face reflected the increasing doubt that was tightening in her chest.

"Go on," he said, his voice like a low, gentle caress that somehow managed to reach her despite her internal struggle. "Put on some shoes. Let's go."

There was a momentary pause where she stared blindly at the bottle dangling from his hand… and then, quietly, she nodded.

"Okay."

The nagging doubt or guilt or shame or whatever it was that tried to change her mind about coming with Harry didn't cease until Ginny made a conscious decision to ignore it… and even then, it still lurked about, ready to pounce should she want an excuse to go back. When they appeared on the grounds of the Louvre, however, she knew that she wasn't going back.

She had been to the Louvre several times while studying in Paris but that didn't stop her from being taken aback by the beauty of it at that moment. They Apparated right into the Tuileries, a vast park that surrounded the Louvre. Ginny looked around at the tall lampposts that dotted the grounds, illuminating the many grand gardens, the mazes of shrubbery, the tree-lined paths, and hundreds of sculptures. Beyond the park, against the night sky, was the palace of the Louvre, its ornate wings in colors of cream and pale blue stretching out across the massive grounds.

Nighttime cast an eerie spell over the place, she thought to herself. The surrounding atmosphere seemed almost ethereal with the fountains still bubbling brightly, the lampposts casting pools of light over the greenery, and the windows of the palace glinting invitingly.

No, she wasn't going anywhere, she decided at once. The decision seemed somehow easier to make here.

"There's supposed to be a separate entrance to the magical wing, something about a carousel?" Harry asked, looking around and Ginny lead the way around an enormous round pond. In the daylight, groups of people would be milled around it, sailing miniature sailboats attached to sticks that were available to rent from a colorful cart, now packed away for the night.

"Peering across the river, as though she might see a stray sailboat floating across its surface, but the reflection of something else caught her eye… and made her stop short.

"Harry, there are guards over there," she whispered. "The park is opened later than the Louvre, but it must be closed by now—"

"I know," he said, keeping his voice light, and she barely caught the flashes of light sparking from his wand, which he held loosely at his side. She stared in awe for a moment before he urged her,

"Where's the carousel?"

"Oh, right." She whirled around. "It's down there."

After what seemed like a very long walk, with Harry modifying the memory of every guard in the park, the carousel's glowing lights came into view, appearing as though it was a figment of imagination, its painted horses oddly bright against the dark sky and the trees that surrounded it. But they didn't have much time to be enraptured by the beauty of carved horses.

Once inside, Harry quickly became aware that the security systems were a bit more complex than he had thought. While he hastily worked through the interior barriers, Ginny waited in a long hall filled with hundreds of life-sized bronze sculptures of centaurs. They were moving sculptures, charmed to follow the occupants of the room with their pointed arrows. Since she was the only person in the room, every single centaur pointed their respective arrow straight at her head.

_This could be rather damaging to a young child_, she thought to herself, testing them by crouching down suddenly. The bronze figures flew into position, their faces furious, as they slashed downward with their arrows, aiming directly towards her. Slowly, she stood… and slowly, they followed her.

"Right, we're not going to be able to go into the Muggle section," came Harry's irritated voice, and when he walked crisply into the room, half the centaurs flew up on hind legs to take aim at him. He cast them a look, and continued to rant about something called laser beams that he would not be able to disarm without backup.

"But we can walk around the magical section without a problem?" she asked.

"Yeah, I've managed to bring down the entire wing, so we can see the lot. But _damn_…we came all the way here..."

"Look, Harry, we can come back to the Muggle section another time. We won't even be able to get through _half_ of the magic part tonight, anyway. So...what shall we see first?"

He huffed out a breath, looking as though he wanted to continue complaining, and then peered at the map he had opened.

"It's a lot of art," he commented after they had stared at the complex pages for several silent minutes. She looked at Harry and saw that he still appeared a bit riled from the security hassle, so she grabbed the map from his hand and folded it up.

"Here's a thought - why don't we chuck the maps and have a go on our own? In fact…" She trailed off, tucking the map in the back pocket of her jeans, and stepping cautiously towards one particular centaur that she hadn't noticed before. The bronze figure was the only one in the two long rows of centaurs than did not have its arrow pointing between her eyes. It was the only one that didn't move, she discovered, waving her hand over his face. It was frozen, its arrow aimed directly to the floor.

She stepped forward and crouched down, and as the sculptures followed her with their arrows, Harry remarked,

"These things are creepy."

"I know there are secret passages to hidden rooms," Ginny muttered, her eyes roaming over the stone tiles of the floor. "There's actually an entire map devoted to how to get to them… I wonder if…" On a whim, she tapped the slab of stone beneath the frozen centaur's arrow with her wand… then leapt back. She and Harry watched it glow red for a moment… and then twist and turn as a wide opening appeared.

"It's a staircase," he said, peering down.

"Well, let's go then," she urged and he looked back at her, his eyes wary.

"Right, stay behind me, then," he said in a resigned voice, as they descended the steep, wooden steps that creaked beneath their feet. He glanced behind once and said, in a bit of a scolding voice, "Where's your wand?"

"Why?" she asked in surprise. "Are there guards on duty at night?"

"No, but…just have it at the ready, will you?"

She didn't know if he was being overly-cautious or just plain smart, but she pulled her wand out to make him happy and they continued to descend until their feet landed on firm ground. The sight that greeted them caused them both to stand stock still, in complete and utter amazement.

They were in a forest … a vast jungle of massive thicket and winding paths that cut through bunches of soaring trees and across babbling brooks. The branches on the tress, and the leaves that littered the floor moved in a soft wind that Ginny could literally feel on her skin as overhead, birds of all sizes flew from branch to branch against a ceiling that was bewitched to look like an endless night sky.

The fact that a forest of this magnitude had appeared underneath a hall, inside a museum was not why Ginny was breathless with amazement or why Harry muttered a soft, "Whoa," as his eyes scoured the place. The true magnificence of the room was that every single tree that towered above them, every flower blooming from the bushes, every flittering bird and even the cluster of unicorns that peeked out from behind a massive tree trunk were entirely carved in glimmering, white marble.

A plaque stood under a willow tree near a small creak made of smooth, flowing marble that looked almost like shimmery milk, and Ginny stepped up to it, her eyes scanning over a description of the work and Italian sculptor who had created it.

They stayed in the forest for nearly an hour, such was the sheer size and fine detail of the room. She had just stepped into a small glade where the white trees made a sort of cocoon filled with intricately carved fairies zooming around a glistening pond, when Harry found her.

"We should probably move on." He sounded rather reluctant and Ginny didn't blame him. She would gladly spend another hour traveling through the white forest, but there was still so much more to see.

After they returned to the centaur hall, they wandered around, now feeling as though they were in a proper art museum. They passed through rooms filled with sculptures, busts, and wall carvings depicting things that ranged from famous battle scenes to magical creatures and famous witches or wizards. A massive fountain of black stone portrayed a particularly famous goblin rebellion and took up a handsome, high-ceilinged room of gold paneled walls. Many rooms, laden with lavish antique furniture dated from many different centuries, appeared as though they were actual rooms in a grand palace; she and Harry walked across a magnificent ballroom, a billiard room, a conservatory bursting with genuine greenery, even a bedroom, with a canopy bed of pink chiffon that was as tall as the ceiling.

There were paintings, of course, of many sizes and shapes, some covering entire walls, some very tiny and packed in with hundreds of others. Many of the portraits spoke, but most were strictly formal and charmed never to speak, travel to other frames, or make sudden movements. They entered a particularly dark room with medieval torches flickering against gray stone walls, and the paintings were spaced evenly throughout in opulent frames.

"It's famous castles," Ginny commented, when she noticed a common thread in each one. "I wonder if—"

"Here it is," Harry said. She turned and looked where he was pointing…he'd known exactly what she'd been hoping to see.

There was Hogwarts, immortalized against an oil-stroked night sky, all solid structure and sheltered fortress. The wave of homesickness she felt surprised her as her eyes roamed over the familiar turrets and grounds, up to Gryffindor tower and the flickering lights inside, then down to the tall oak doors. In her mind, she walked through them, flew up the main stairs, skipping the trick step, and opened the tapestry to take the familiar shortcut to the Fat Lady. It was such a vivid image in her head, it seemed incomprehensible that she would never do it again.

"Have you been back recently?" she asked Harry, glancing at him from the corner of her eye and noticing that he, too had left the Louvre and was somewhere inside the castle.

He shook his head, muttered, "No… not for… a while."

"Hmm… you know, perhaps next time I take a trip home, I'll pay a visit. I'd like to see the professors and have tea with Hagrid." She sent him a smile. "Pretend like I still live there."

He smirked. "Play Quidditch."

"Oh," she breathed, "Yeah…Quidditch."

"D'you know that I never fly anymore?" he asked, shaking his head at himself. "It's a ruddy shame."

She chuckled, then agreed, "It _is_ a shame. I fly on my bicycle all the time, but it's just _not_ the same as a broom."

A sudden slow grin appeared on Harry's face, and he slanted her a peculiar look. "The same bicycle your dad made for you?"

"Yeah… why?"

His shout of sudden laughter rang out in the dark room. "I remember when he was putting that bloody thing together. I installed the Invisibility Booster, does it work all right?"

Ginny's eyes lifted in surprise. "You helped him make my bicycle?"

"No, I only added the Invisibility Charm. He always had trouble with that," Harry smirked. "So… you ride it along the roads in Paris, do you?"

Lifting a brow, she merely said, "Right, I know when you're trying not to laugh, so have at it, then. Tear the mickey out, you're practically dying to."

"Sorry, but it's funny because… well, there's this film—"

"Yes, yes, Sarah told me all about it, the witch who rides around on a flying bicycle in the sky and… cackles or something—"

Another loud crack of laughter issued from him.

"Anyway, I don't have a yellow face like she supposedly—"

"Green," he corrected her. "She had a green face,"

"Well, I don't have a green face, either!"

Harry's grin was a mile wide. "Hey, d'you know what we should do? Next time you're home? We should arrange a game. With everyone."

Her lips parted in surprise. "A Quidditch game?" She stared at him for a moment before letting out an astonished laugh. "I would _love_ to have a game," she finally exclaimed. "But a real game, mind, not the rubbish we used to carry on with in the glen—"

"We can arrange two teams, no problem," he said.

"Oooh, we can make a day of it, have a party afterwards for everyone—"

"We can even set up seating and invite people to the game—"

"Or—wait." The adrenaline in her system reared. "What if we did it once a month or so? You know, we can plan the games ahead of time, so everyone can clear their schedules. I would absolutely wait in queue once a month if it meant Quidditch."

Harry shoved his glasses up his nose, his eyebrows high. "Like… a league or something?"

"Yeah," she breathed, a familiar thrill racing up her spine. "A _league_. Ron would wait in queue once a month also – or d'you think he and Hermione will be home soon?"

"Another year or so, they think… but - Ginny, didn't you hear?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up. "You won't have to wait in queue anymore, the laws are being lifted."

Through the excitement, Ginny felt a dip in her abdomen. "So…it's really true, then?"

He met her eyes, and after a moment, he said, his voice soft, "Yeah… yeah, the laws will be gone by the end of next month."

The end of next month? The duke had said it would be Autumn. Ginny stared for a moment and then let out a low whistle, her eyes shifting in thought. "Wow."

"Yeah, it's… well, terrible news if you're an auror or a member of any type of magical law enforcement," he said dryly. "But if … you're someone who lives far from home…" He paused and she saw that he knew exactly what prevented her from being completely thrilled. "It'll change everything," he finished.

"Right… it's fantastic news," she nodded as though trying to convince herself that it didn't matter that the distance barrier between herself and Harry would completely vanish. She had already vowed to herself that she would be active in eliminating any remaining barriers between the two of them anyway, hadn't she?

Harry had gone quiet and turned to look at the castle again.

"It will be great," she said, following his gaze to Hogwarts, her eyes lingering on the black lake. "I can visit home whenever I want… have breakfast with Mum before work… come to Sunday tea… " She sent him a sudden grin. "And be star Chaser of the biggest up and coming Quidditch league of the century."

Harry looked at her and slowly his grin grew until it matched hers.

"Harry, I'm going to go in this room on the left – Wizards of Eminence," she called to him a bit later, after touring several more rooms. Not very keen on standing with him while he stared at a large portrait of half-naked veela, she ventured off on her own, stepping into a massive, octagon-shaped room, its cathedral ceiling made of pale aqua glass that glinted from the candles in one enormous, floating chandelier. Each side of the octagon was carved with a deep alcove where titanic-sized portraits of distinguished witches and wizards floated in mid-air.

She walked slowly through, gazing up at some of the biggest paintings she had ever seen, so enormous, their occupants were almost twice her size. She stopped to read the plaque of a portrait that depicted an ancient-looking wizard wearing a white wig, who was riding a horse with a scaly dragon hide hanging off. She came to a halt, however, at one of the more lavish alcoves where four paintings hung, each depicting one of the four founders of Hogwarts, all favorably depicted in glorious frames that matched each founder's house colors.

And in the very front, a single painting that was larger than the other four hung magnificently, and a surprised smile came onto Ginny's face. She allowed herself a lingering look at the white-bearded wizard with twinkling blue eyes and half-moon spectacles, before deciding that she needed to go and retrieve Harry. She didn't want him to miss this room.

But when she entered the large octagon, something towards the side caught her eye and she had to look twice at it before her she came to a crashing halt. It was another portrait displayed alone under a magnificent arch as though its occupant was being honored.

For a moment, all she could do was stand there, frozen, as though someone had issued a blow to her insides…and then her legs began to move. Her shoes clunked on the floor as she walked down the corridor until she was staring up into the artist-rendered eyes of Tom Riddle.

He wore robes of silver and green with a Slytherin crest glinting on his lapel. Sitting poised and perfect against a simple silver backdrop, he looked older than his years, which was around seventeen, according to the antiqued silver plaque floating beside it.

But Ginny didn't see any of that. The cold, composed smile on his handsome face was evoking something so deeply forgotten that all she could do was remain completely motionless in its wake.

She didn't know how long she stood there, alone, staring up into the face of the teenaged boy who had once possessed her body and her soul. All she knew was that there was no force on earth that could move her. She had to stand here. She _had _to look at him. The magnitude of it surpassed everything.

Some time later… it could have been minutes or hours… an incredible strength came from somewhere. She fought to understand what it was before a vague recollection came over her. She wasn't alone. Harry was here.

A few heartbeats later, something warm began to seep into her body, and it took her a long time to realize that his strong hand had come up to grip her shoulder.

"I'm okay." Her tiny voice deceived her words. "I am."

"I know," he said, keeping his hand where it was.

Her eyes stayed on Riddle. She couldn't move them for anything. But Harry's hand was solid and fought for the connection that existed between herself and the teenaged boy in the portrait.

Thoughts were creeping through now. Words rang in her mind. They were scrawled across a page, but she heard them, too, almost thundering, as though they had once been shouted at her. She saw a small girl sitting on a four-poster bed, trembling from head to toe, trying to keep her hand steady as she wrote… and the same girl was waking up covered in something that looked like blood.

She flinched inwardly… and her body moved a fraction, her back connecting with his body. His hand tightened. She found a power much greater than the one she couldn't drag her eyes from.

"Ginny."

Her name was a low murmur that finally accomplished what the presence of his hand on her shoulder had been fighting for. It broke the connection. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, turned around. His hand slid away and the loss of it caused the first real emotion to sweep through her since she had laid eyes on the portrait. But then she saw bottle-green eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and the sight was so familiar, so welcoming, that she held onto it like talisman against whatever had held her captive a moment ago.

"I'm okay," she said again, when she saw apprehension swimming in his eyes. She mustered a small smile. "It's just a painting, right?"

His voice was hard when he said, "It shouldn't be here. I had no idea it was here."

"Well, why shouldn't it?" She swallowed the bitterness in her throat. "He's a wizard of eminence, isn't he? The young man who would become Lord Voldemort?" And to prove that she could, Ginny brought her eyes back to Riddle, allowed her breath to come out in a slow exhale. "I suppose a portrait of Voldemort himself wouldn't be the best thing to put in a public museum. They probably thought this was the only way to depict him without terrifying their guests… right?"

When she brought her eyes back to Harry, something inside of her hollowed out at the way he was looking at her. "Yeah… yeah, I suppose."

A long moment passed between them.

"We should… move on," she said weakly. As transfixed as she had been by the portrait, she was suddenly just as anxious to be away from it. And from Harry's eyes.

He didn't motion to leave, however, and merely shifted his gaze to Tom Riddle where it stilled. "Can I ask you something, Ginny?"

She hesitated. "Of course."

"Do you ever think about it? That year?" His tone was distracted, as though he had suddenly become captive himself.

"Erm, not often," she answered. "I used to, of course, but now… well, not often. Do you… ever think about it?"

She had never before asked him that.

Something raw came into his eyes. "I-I have been… recently."

"Oh." She stared at him. "Why?"

A silent breath escaped him. "I've just been…you know, thinking about things. Things that you and I…things we've been through together."

"Oh," she said again, feebly. Tom Riddle flew from her mind. She couldn't look away from Harry if she wanted to.

He cleared his throat and his eyes searched the painting as though he was looking for something. "It's funny, how… you think you know yourself… but then…something happens and you realize that… that someone else understands you even better."

She blinked. "Sorry?"

He swallowed hard and continued, "I mean…you think… you think you understand a relationship you have with someone, you don't …because as it turns out, they had it right all along… and you were the one who… who didn't see it for what it was."

He turned to her, finally. Her eye wide, she stared into his, her breath stopping in her throat for a long time. Harry looked at her carefully, as though choosing his words, biding his time until, after a moment of stillness, he said,

"Ginny, there's something… something I've been thinking about lately. Ever since our – " He cleared his throat, "– our talk in your bedroom. I want to be honest with you and… well, I'm going to say it and—"

"No," she interrupted him before she could stop herself, her heart slamming against her ribs, pure panic rising in her throat. She wasn't going to let him do this. "Harry, you… you can't do this," she said unsteadily. "You don't know what you're saying—"

"I do know what I'm—"

"No," she said carefully, "You don't."

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I see. Right, so… in other words… you never want to face it, what's between us."

There was a long moment of silence, and then, "Face it?" she asked, her voice hushed. "I have faced it. There _is_ nothing between us, Harry. That's the point, that's all there is to face."

There was a prolonged silence and then,

"Really."

There was an edge there, as though he'd been somehow prepared for her response and was ready to fight her on it. She closed her eyes.

"Yes, really."

"You know, I suppose you're right," he said. "There isn't anything between us. How could there be? You've been running from it for years."

A dull flush rose on her face. "_I've_ been running? What do you call looking you in the eye and telling you that I love you? Do you call that running?"

"No…but you were gone not five minutes later. And you're still gone. You would rather spend years torturing yourself… avoiding me, moving away… when all you needed to do was tell me… _talk_ to me. And you're _still_ doing it. You're still running – you're still hiding—"

"Hiding?" she exclaimed. "I'm here, aren't I? In this empty museum, in the middle of the night, _alone_ with you—"

"Yeah, and you were bloody terrified to come even though, not seconds before, you said that we _can_ be friends after all. It's rubbish, Ginny. You're going round in the same circle you've always done, only what happens next time this pesky thing that's between us rears it's head again? And make no mistake," he said, his finding hers. "There is something between us and always has been... even if you don't want to face it or I'm too daft to recognize it for what it is. Where do you go then? Do you run to Paris? Maybe further away, like to Marseille or Nice? Or maybe further yet, to Cambodia or Peru next time? The farther the better?"

His words hit her as though he had thrown them with full force at her. As though the her insides were growing into stone, Ginny felt an unyielding pressure inside her chest. Blindly, she lifted a hand to somehow ease the intensity of it, but all she found was her pendant lying against her breast. She closed her fingers around it, holding tight.

"You… you told me to go," she whispered. "You said that I _should_ go. Do you know how much it meant for me to hear those words from you? You were the only one who supported my decision…and now you're taking it _back_?"

Her voice broke and Harry's eyes dropped. They stood there, both breathing heavily, and then he said in a voice that sounded almost sickly, "I wasn't strong enough to say anything else to you that night. I thought it was the only thing I ever did - in the fifteen years we've known each other - that might be good for _you_, but—"

"I don't want to hear this," she cried suddenly. "This whole time I've been thinking how perfect you were to me that night, and _now_—"

"Well, you have to hear it, because I'm not going to sit back and make this convenient for you anymore. Not after what I've realized about my own feelings," he snapped.

The pressure was intesifying, and she shook her head, and snapped, "I _told_ you that you don't know what you're feeling, Harry. You're _confused_, you're _guilty_, whatever it is, it's not what you think, okay? And I can't listen to it."

But before she could turn on her heel as she wanted, Harry cut in front of her. Breathing heavily, she stepped to the side, knowing that he was going to match her movement, and when he did just that, she huffed out a frustrated breath, which he ignored and said,

"Right, the way I see it, you have two choices. You can walk out of here and never – and I mean _never_ – talk to me again, or you can deal with me right now." He took a step towards her, and his voice dropped dangerously as he bent his head to look her in the eye. "Because you and I… we need to have this out. We need to get to the bottom of this… this _poison_ that has been between us our entire lives—because I want it _gone_. Understand? I want to know what makes you so goddamned afraid to let me in."

With each syllable, leaned further into her until they were practically nose to nose. Heart thudding, she tried to step back, but he followed her, matching her steps, practically stalking her.

"Because I've let _you_ in," he said between his teeth, and his voice shook with the emotions that glowed in his eyes. "You can come to _my_ aid when I need you, you can make _me_ strong, so why is it that I was never offered the chance to do it for you? Why can't _I_ ever be good for you?"

Immobilizing shock had her staggering backwards and her back connected with one of the cold, tall pillars. Her breath hitched in her throat. Denial was trying to cut in and make her believe that it was veritably impossible for him to be standing in front of her, reciting the secrets of her soul. But he was. He was. She stood quite still, staring up into Harry's eyes for longer than she could ever remember doing so, only dimly aware that she was gripping her pendant so tightly, her nails were digging into her flesh.

And as though he could read her thoughts, his eyes dropped to her hand. Ginny watched him stare down at the fist that was pressed against her chest. Several tense moments passed between them before he brought both of his hands up and wrapped them with painstaking care around her tight fingers, prying them open so that he could twine them with his.

The tears were frozen in her throat as she stared at their hands, as Harry said in a barely audible whisper, "Look at me, Ginny."

Her vision blurred. There was nothing she could do, though, no way she could move her eyes from his hands engulfing hers, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles.

"I didn't come here to thank you for a box of bloody sweets," he said in a hoarse whisper, "I came here for _you_—"

"No, _no_," she said hoarsely. "You can't do this, okay? You don't really feel this, you _can't._ You only _think_ you feel it because your you're worried about me. I know that. I know it was difficult to hear me say those things to you in my bedroom. But… you don't care that this is _killing_ me—?"

"Really?" he said fiercely, and she hadn't known she'd been trying to pull her hand away until he yanked it back. "Difficult, was it? Oh, right, how could I forget? _You're_ the expert on how I feel, aren't you? Right then, go on and tell me what I'm supposed to feel for you."

"_Harry_—"

"Better yet, let me know how I should have felt after leaving your bedroom that night. Tell me how I didn't stay awake thinking about a girl I've known my entire life who _finally _told me that she loves me… and how it made me feel, maybe for the first time in my life, like I'm _worth_ something because of who I am and not because of what I've done. But I can't think about how she makes everything better in my life…or how good I feel when I'm around her… because she _hates_ herself when she's with me."

Ginny's eyes slammed shut. "That's not true—"

"It _is_. Look at yourself right now…you can't even stand to have me touch you! Ginny…I want to know what he said to you in that diary. Was it something about me?"

Her eye flew open, a blind sort of confusion poking into the haze in her brain. "What?" she managed at last. "Are you… d'you you mean _Riddle_? What does he have to do with this?"

Harry's eyes widened in shock. "What does _Riddle_ have to do with your insecurities?"

"I cannot blame _Tom Riddle_ for my problems, Harry—"

"Ginny, he poisoned everything he touched! Do you honestly think there can't be even a _trace _of insecurity left inside of you from him? Something that you might not even recognize because it's been there so long, you've just accepted it as the way things are?"

But she was shaking her head so violently, she barely even heard him. "I don't want to talk about Riddle, Harry."

There was a pause, and then, "We've never talked about him." His voice turned quiet, almost eerily so. "Never, Ginny, do you realize you've never told me anything about that year?"

Stunned, she said, "Of course I have–"

"Once. In fifth year, you yelled at me for not asking you what it felt like to be possessed by Voldemort. But that was the _only_ time and that wasn't even…" He shook his head. "For two years after that, you listened to everything I needed to vent about, but never once did you talk about Riddle or the diary or _anything_ you went through that year."

Her eyes must have exuded the open alarm that rang in her chest, because his own eyes darted away from her. After a prolonged moment, he swallowed, and asked,

"Have you ever thought about why you constantly run away from me?" He took another step towards her, his hand still swallowing one of hers. "Because you're not the type of person who runs away. In fact, you're the polar opposite. When you want something, you go after it, and you don't apologize for wanting it. But…when it's _me_ you want, things are different. You hide from me, you find excuses to stay away, you…you put everything you have into convincing yourself to stay away. You're ashamed of it… and I can't stop thinking about it, okay?" He swallowed. "About the way you looked that night in your bedroom. I know what shame can do to a person, what it's like to feel horrified at the things you've done and the look on your face… like you deserved to be _punished_ … because of a _kiss_…I can't get it out of my head," he whispered.

Ginny had to look away from his eyes. "Of course I'm ashamed of it," she whispered. She lifted her free hand to rub at the back of her neck. "Because, Harry, do you even… you can't understand what it's like to… be in love with someone who doesn't…love you back.."

His hands tightened around hers. "So tell me. _Talk_ to me."

"Talking about it… isn't going to…to help," she managed. "I've _told_ you everything I needed to say already, and now I want to try and move on."

"_No_." His hands jerked, pulling her closer by the hand he held captive. "Ginny for the love of—it doesn't work, keeping everything in, you're the one who's told me that so many—_honestly_, I spent years trying not to let anyone in, and look where I am! Alone. Do you know what he said to me in that Chamber, Ginny?" he asked, changing the subject sharply. "He recited your entries. That's right, he bloody _quoted_ you. On everything. Things you had written about your brothers, about _me_ …."

A wave of nausea came over her, but Harry wasn't finished.

"He talked about how you opened your heart to him… and that it was all he needed to take you over."

"Stop… stop, it doesn't_ matter_, Harry… it doesn't matter what he said, it's what I choose to believe and I _know_ everything he said was rubbish, I _know_—" she whispered. "I _know_ it's not true—"

"_Ginny_, " he pressed, his voice crippled with desperation. "Rubbish!? It's not rubbish, it's _poison_. He mocked the way you opened you're heart to him and that is _exactly_ what you've been terrified to do with _me_ for all these years."

"Harry, please, you _can't_ think that—"

"I can't think what? All I can _do_ is think about you, and what it felt like to hear you say those things to me…" he whispered. "Like… like I've been waiting for years for you to say them, waiting for you to… to finally open that door, so we can leave behind everything bad in our lives. Ginny, we can… we can be good for each other, can't we?" he asked, his voice very near pleading. "I can be good for you, too, can't I?"

Tears erupted in her eyes as arrows of shocked, blinding pain sliced through her body. She had to get away. She had to run. _Now._He wasn't saying these things. He couldn't be. They felt too good, they felt too right, they felt real when he said them and they weren't… they weren't real… they _couldn't be_.

She had to go, she thought wildly. She had to get out before she started to believe them… before…

But she couldn't move. His face was centimeters away, his eyes gentle and pleading and shining with something that she couldn't dare believe. His breath was warm on her face, his hands soft on hers. All she could do was stand there, frozen, with only a single moment to realize that his green eyes shined with a sort of need that she never imagined she would see there, before the room tilted and the beginnings of a misty fog began to cover her brain—

And on primal instinct, she shot away from him as though he had slapped her.

Terror… pure terror flooded into her heart and it was reflected in Harry's eyes as they stared at each other, the ability to move or think or speak expelled them at once.

"No," came his low voice, tearing from his throat as he watched her take a stumbling step back. "Ginny – wait."

"No," she said, her throat clogged with frozen tears. "Harry, I can't do this… it's too hard."

"It's _not_ too hard," he said in a low, fierce voice. "Stop _fighting_ yourself, Ginny, I can't stand to watch you do this to yourself—"

"Harry, stop!" she finally shouted. "I can't_ breathe_…"

His eyes slid closed. There was silence for a long time, only her horrible, shuddering gulps of air echoing in the room… and then,

"Okay," managed his shaken voice a few moments later, sounding completely defeated. "Okay."

The feelings raging inside of her were fighting so hard, all she could do was remain still, staring blindly at the other side of the huge room, her eyes landing with dull exhaustion over the gilded frame of one of the other portraits.

After a while, her eyes began to focus again… her brain began to clear… and the war inside of her came to a slow halt. Her eyes widened. Beside her, she felt Harry turn to follow her gaze… and she knew he saw it, too when his body stiffened.

As though her legs were out of her control, she began to walk across the great room, until finally, she stood before the painting that also depicted a boy of around seventeen. He wore robes as well, not of silver and grey…but of maroon and gold.

A wizard of eminence, she thought weakly, as she stared at the breathtakingly real portrait of The Boy Who Lived. He was larger than life, his green eyes burning through the barrier of art and life as they stared into the nearly empty portrait hall. Harry Potter was immortalized on canvas, standing victoriously with his hand resting on a great silver sword with a ruby-encrusted hilt that bore the name "Godric Gryffindor", his portrait positioned in the room so that he was perpetually facing the dark wizard he had eventually vanquished. It was a stunning and reverent tribute done by a skilled hand...but it was the expression on his face that positively floored her. The artist, whoever he was, had somehow managed to capture in that painting the internal struggle that was always raging inside the Harry she knew…in the viridian green brushstrokes that brought his eyes to life, she could see his soul

"It's you," she said quietly, her voice trancelike, swallowing against the sudden lump in her throat. "This is how I remember you…just like this."

It was the Harry she remembered when she thought back to some of the best times of her life… the very same Harry who had existed in her mind's eye while over the years, her feelings for him had changed from a worshipful crush to a deep, overwhelming love.

"I remember what it felt like to wake up in that Chamber…" she whispered slowly, her voice thick with the tears she had shed, feeling as though the words were being dragged from the depths of her most neglected and hidden memories. "I thought I might have been dead… and there you were… standing over me, telling me that it was all right, that Riddle had gone… and then you helped me up." She pressed a hand feebly over her heart. "You have no idea how I held onto that. All summer… I used your voice, your face against my nightmares…and it worked. You made it so easy to be brave."

She sighed softly, feeling it begin inside of her, that sweet ache that started in her chest and spread through her abdomen, both hurting and comforting at the same time. It was a feeling she had felt so many times, but one that she would never, in her lifetime, get used to.

As though Harry's portrait was just as hypnotizing as Riddle's, Ginny had to drag her eyes away to look at the real Harry, standing a few pace away. She saw that he was staring at her… but his eyes… his eyes caused her already wet eyes to fill even more. They were empty, she saw, and completely turned into himself as though he was too blind by his own demons to even see her.

He was hurting, she thought, her heart tightening… he was hurting because of her. She stared back at him, her hazy mind falling onto the beginning of the night where they had sat side by side, drinking butterbeer, unaware of what would transpire between them. What would have happened if she had refused to come with him? Would he have insisted? Would he have tried to tell her his feelings then, and if so, would he have fought for her as hard as he had in front of Riddle's portrait?

Her fingers curled into her chest to pull at her pendant again as a fresh bout of shame enveloped her. But it was different this time. It was a shame that was born from realizing that the person she loved most in this world had put up the fight of his life to show her what was in his heart… and she had pushed him away.

"Harry."

He started, shifting his eyes to her face. She barely had a moment to register his jaw tightening and his eyes turning fierce as she walked blindly towards him, felt his sharp intake of breath, and threw her arms around his neck.

A low, muffled noise broke from his chest, and he stood quite still, his shoulders stiff with shock… until… before she knew what was happening, his arms came around her, slowly enveloping her, until he positively clung.

Years of pent-up emotions poured out of her in that single, heart-stopping moment and she burrowed into him, pressing her face against his neck, pushing her body into his. Never had she held onto something so tightly, with such complete force until now, until Harry.

"_I'm sorry_," she muttered against him, in a tiny voice. "I'm sorry."

And she said it again… and again, holding him fast to make sure he knew just how deeply she meant it. His arms came tighter every time she said it, his hands reaching further until it was more than she could take, and she just couldn't speak anymore. She breathed him in slowly, shockwaves of pure feeling shooting down her spine.

Harry's voice came then, and it was the same haunted, angst-ridden voice she had heard countless times when it was he who needed saving.

"I want you," it murmured into her throat. "Ginny…I can't stop thinking about you… ever since… your bedroom…."

She clung blindly, feeling his words and allowing him to crush the doubt that might have crept in if there had been any room for it. The emotions in his voice sent panic racing through her. What if she never heard it again? What if he pulled away and everything went away? She grasped him to keep his close… to keep him like this forever.

"Thank you for saying those things to me that night," he whispered and on an anguished moan, she reached up and pressed her cheek against his, standing on tiptoe to hold him.

And suddenly she knew that without that cold, winter night in her bedroom, this moment could never have been possible between them… and if all the years spent hiding had lead them to this moment, right now, then every single, agonizing second had been worth it.

As it was, there was nothing between them now…no barriers left. She had never before felt so vulnerable, so open…and it was he who saw her like this… he, who had even known such a place existed inside of her. She knew in that moment that she could trust him. That she could place her life and her heart in his hands.

He turned his face further against her neck, into her curtain of hair, his chest raising as he drew in her scent… and his hand slid lower on her back as he whispered, "I never thought… it's like it's always been there…but I didn't …I couldn't…I'm sorry, Ginny, if I ever hurt you, I'm sorry…"

"Don't," she managed. "Don't."

Whether it was seconds or hours later…as though they had somewhere, somehow turned into one unit…something changed between them. Ginny felt it spark inside of her as Harry's body tightened. It was as though they were waking from a dream to suddenly realize that every part of their bodies were touching.

Their hands contracted… then softened as the flesh beneath burned. It was heady and manic to feel a strong, masculine hand moving over the nape of her neck, and know that it was Harry who touched her, Harry who's hands moved lower, Harry who held her in his arms. And then… she was experiencing a sensation like none other. He was slowly, dragging the side of his face across her cheek, the shadow of his beard scraping against her sunburn before his mouth collided with hers.

It was gentle, deep…and painfully slow. Her faint whimper was muffled against him as he kissed her, as his fingers curled into her, pulling her as far into him as she could go….

She wouldn't remember how long that endless kiss lasted or who ended it … but she would remember walking with him away from his portrait - a portrait that would have destroyed her if she'd seen it a few years ago – through the dark, vacant museum, and back out into the Parisian night with their fingers entwined, stopping every once in awhile to taste each other again. It was new and unbelievably exciting, and they couldn't get enough….but it was the familiarity that made it perfect, as though they should have been doing it for years.

A lifetime later, the dewy morning air rustled Ginny's hair so that it flapped gently against her arms. The sloshing water splashed against the base of the bridge below them and she looked out at the golden light of the emerging sun. It was just after dawn. She and Harry had made their way to the empty bridge, few words passing between them as they allowed the weight of the words that had already been spoken to sink in.

Ginny sighed, rubbing her bare arms against the cool breeze that brushed over her skin and the movement caused her arm to touch Harry's, slightly. She jerked instantly away… before remembering. She didn't have to move her arm from his. She could touch him… she could turn and bury herself against him if she wanted. He _wanted_ to touch her.

Her eyes glazed on the water at the thought and then they slid closed, as the reality of that coursed through her. It was difficult… so difficult to believe what was happening right now. Her mind felt as though it might never catch up to the blinding thrill of having Harry in the way she had always dreamed about. And though it was terrifying to think about what it had been like before she had felt him touch her like he had in the Louvre… it frightened her even more to go forward.

"It's nice here."

His voice was low and dull, as though he, too, was deep in thought. She made a noise of agreement, found herself murmuring, "I used to come here all the time… to read letters and to write home…it actually reminds me of home a bit."

"Yeah?"

She nodded slowly, her throat becoming restricted. "I used to think about…" She stopped herself. That was the past and she shouldn't think about the past… not tonight at least.

"About what?" he asked, and it was a few moment before she felt his eyes on her.

"You," she answered, and waited for the tension… waited for the discomfort to slip between them. But all she felt was Harry's arm against hers, its pressure increasing as he leaned into her a little.

"Yeah?" he asked again, and his gentle voice slipped into her blood, easing away the doubt.

"Yeah," she sighed, and rested against him, and everything went still again.

After a long time, because her eyes couldn't manage to stay away, she glanced at him as he gazed out to the water. The light from the peeking sun was trickling over them, turning his eyes into a silvery, liquid green that she couldn't help but stare at in awe for a moment…and then he looked her. A slow smile came onto his face, a smile that she found herself returning as she realized that she didn't have to look away anymore when he caught her watching him.

The wind picked up and Harry lifted a hand to brush a few strands of hair from her face, his thumb moving delicately over her cheekbone. After a long moment, his eyes glazed and his hand slid further into her hair at the nape of her neck.

"I have to tell you something," she muttered, because she knew she had to say it now before he kissed her again.

His eyes became focused, albeit with apparent difficulty, and his hand dropped to her shoulder as he waited. She took a deep breath.

"I'm a little… scared of what's happening between us. It's like… things are moving so fast that I can't… I can't keep up. Harry, I…I have a tendency to… to overreact about certain things."

Very slowly, a ghost of a smile came over his face "Is that a fact?" he asked, tilting his head, and Ginny couldn't help the smile from tugging at her mouth.

"Don't tease me."

"I can tease you if I want," he said, and his eyes lightened in a way that sent a sweet, aching jolt through her body.

"I love you," she whispered because she couldn't help herself, and because, in a way, her fears were right there, in those three words.

The laughter vanished from his face. He straightened, his eyes darkening, his throat tightening.

She had to swallow before she could continue, "You need to know that, because… I am going to fight this thing…this insecurity that I have." She paused, and looked out to the misty water. "I don't know if it's from the diary or if it's something that came about from all the years I told myself you just didn't… couldn't… feel the same. We can… we can figure that out together, like you said, though, can't we?" She looked at him.

"Y- yeah," he managed, nodding. "Yes."

Her smile was shaky. "Good…because I want to be with you, Harry."

And as though it had scared her to say the words, she moved closer to him, needing to feel his strength against her. If it was possible, his eyes went even darker, and his hand gripped her shoulder tightly… same as he had in front of Riddle's portrait. Her throat was constricted when she said,

"I can't hold back anymore." Her whisper turned fierce. "I _refuse _to hold back from you. So I need you to know that if …if things start to become difficult… if _I _make things more difficult, it's because it's going to be hard for me to get rid of this doubt. I've lived with it for so long. It's a part of me and I need to know that you won't… give up on me."

There was a long pause where Harry looked at her, and then he moved his hand from her shoulder, to course very lightly down her back so that it rested at her waist. "Do you know," he asked, "what I was most afraid of when I came here tonight?"

She shook her head quietly, and he continued,

"I thought that you wouldn't believe me when I …said how I felt about you. I thought you wouldn't think it was… good enough, because I knew that I couldn't say it how I really meant it. I still don't know if I said it right… or…" he muttered, almost to himself. "The words are just… they're hard for me… and…"

He looked away as though searching for the very words he struggled with, as Ginny tried to comprehend what he said. How could he think anything of the sort? He had to know he was everything to her… didn't he? But it occurred to her suddenly that she almost hadn't let him believe that he wasn't good for her, and the thought was so scary that she reached blindly for his hand, and twined their fingers.

"Words aren't the most important thing," she whispered and watched his eyes go still and she knew that her saying this meant everything to him. "I don't need words from you, Harry."

His fingers tightened over hers. "I know. And I knew that I was going to have to get past what you've put between us, but it didn't worry me because… I know how to fight that. I know what it is, because it's inside of me, too, only mine… mine comes from …losing people—"

He broke off, and Ginny automatically moved closer to him.

"My point is," he continued, his voice unsteady, "that I know it's not going to be easy, but… I wasn't prepared for you to let me have you without a fight."

It was a long time before she could speak. She knew that after this night, things would be difficult. When she wasn't standing with him on her bridge, looking at a perfect sunset… there would be doubts… there would be a great deal of past demons trying to creep in. It would be a struggle… a constant struggle perhaps… but—

"It's like you said in your bedroom that night," Harry whispered. "We're survivor's, after all... aren't we?"

The corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Yeah…yeah, we're survivors."

And because it was silly, really, to keep talking, she lifted her chin and, reeling that she was allowed to do it, let herself kiss him. After several long, lingering moments, they broke apart slowly, their eyes fluttering open, their breaths mingling between mouths that were still touching, as though they couldn't bare to break the contact completely.

After what seemed like a lifetime of motionless contentment, he brought his hands up to frame her face, smoothing her hair away, running his thumbs across her sunburned cheeks. Slowly, his green eyes roamed over every inch of her face, as though memorizing her, lingering finally on her eyes.

"Hi…" he finally muttered in a lost, wondrous voice, as though he was seeing her for the first time. All she could do was stare into his eyes with the same aching wonder, feeling just as lost… but finding something inside of her she hadn't known could ever exist.

"Hi," she whispered back, her heart weak. A quiet stillness settled inside of her… because she knew deep down that he saw her. Harry saw her.

And knowing that, she let herself reach for him…and found him right there.

The End

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	16. Epilogue

**Title**: "Seeking Ginny"

**Author**: Casca

**Rating**: PG-13

**Spoilers**: Through Goblet

**Classification**: Post-Hogwarts H/G, **Post-HBP AU**

**Summary**: For years, Ginny Weasley has tried to bring to an end to her feelings for Harry Potter… she's even uprooted her life… but what happens when it's time to come face to face with him again? A post-Hogwarts tale revolving around Ginny's discovery of herself…while coming to terms with her feelings for Harry.…

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: Thanks to Blacktag for a speedy and encouraging beta! You're a lifesaver!

Epilogue

_One month after the Louvre_.

Brian McGuire was late. Ginny didn't know why that fact surprised her. Seeing that the Apparition Laws were gone and travel time to and from anywhere was, quite literally, one second, being on time these days was a breeze. But some things, such as Brian's total lack of regard for Ginny's time, never changed. It was oddly comforting.

Heaving a sigh, she plopped onto her sofa, smashing the pillows she had just fluffed, crossed her legs and tapped her foot in time to the music coming from her wireless. It was dreadful being impulsive, she decided. It meant that your friends needed to be just as impulsive or else you were destined to spend your entire life waiting for them.

Her stomach gave a hungry growl and she wondered if she should give Brian up as a lost cause and fix herself something for dinner. An impatient glance towards the kitchen had her eyes gazing absentmindedly on her photograph wall. She spotted one picture in particular of herself, Brian, and Sarah on the night of the wedding, and her smile turned a bit sly. Brian wouldn't be late if _Sarah_ had been joining them tonight.

Like always, she felt slightly panicked at the thought of Brian out there pining for the girl who happened to be Ginny's oldest and dearest friend, and who had no clue whatsoever that she was the object of someone's almost stalker-like affections. _Ginny couldn't help but feel as though she had unleashed upon poor Sarah this virile, masculine monster who had no idea how to talk to a girl without trying to get into her bed, much less lay the foundation for a relationship_. It was almost like knowing there was a bomb somewhere in the world that could go off at any moment, and here she was, left in limbo, anticipating for the explosion.

She just needed to spend more time with the two of them, she decided, kicking off her shoes, and flicking her wand for a glass of wine. Now that the Apparition laws were gone, she could observe the two of them together a bit more, talk to Brian further about his feelings, and try to see if Sarah thought him any different than an arrogant womanizer (Ginny didn't want to think that it had been _she_ who had labeled Brian as such, even though it was technically true).

But the fact remained that Brian and Sarah did share _something_; Ginny had received that vibe from the wedding. Whether it was merely a casual acquaintance from bumping into each other at that coffee shop or some sort of friendship, she didn't know. All she really had to go on was their actions towards each other at the fireworks show the night of the wedding and she hadn't been able to properly concentrate then…not after that look from Harry….

Harry.

It was enough to change her train of thought quite easily. Suddenly, she was no longer alone in her flat, but on her bridge with him. The force of his kiss was taking all the breath from her, and he was saying things that she had since repeated over again in her mind a hundred times so she would never, ever forget them—

Then an owl was coming through the haze of the sunrise and Harry was reading a letter with an increasing frown, telling her that he had to go… and would probably be gone for a while. And had Ginny known then that one solid month would go by without seeing him or hearing a single word from him, she knew that she would have done… something. Something more. Kissed him longer, perhaps, or given him more words, more of a promise… anything.

It was a reality that she could never have imagined, even in her wildest fantasies, living in a world where Harry had told her that he wanted her, a world where every barrier between them was shattered. But it was also a world where he wasn't there.

Having him gone had forced her to realize a few things about her relationship with him. Though she understood the person he was, and could accept the requirements of his job without resentment or jealousy, the insecurities were still there, that sharp, nagging doubt born from the same emotions she'd felt when she had fought him tooth and nail in front of Tom Riddle's portrait. Despite the fact that his eyes had said a thousand words that night, Ginny knew – and she had known it then as well – that it was going to take so much more to make it real for her.

But she had pushed away the doubts best as she could. Instead, she allowed herself to indulge in what it _had_ felt like to have him with her on her bridge. He'd framed her face in his hands and looked at her in wonderment with those green, green eyes and kissed her with a tenderness that had her toes curling even now—

_POP!_

Ginny jumped. There was a moment of confusion as she sat on her sofa, one part of her still back on her bridge with Harry, the other part looking at a disheveled Brian McGuire. Her face suddenly burned as though he had caught her in the act of kissing Harry rather than merely interrupting her thoughts on the subject.

"Right, I'm bloody starving to death," she said, once she'd recovered, and shoved her feet into her sandals. "I'm not even going to waste my breath asking why you're late, but I'll tell you this: you will pay for my meal tonight, _and_ dessert—"

"Dinner has to wait, love, sorry," he said, and before offering an explanation, he grabbed a piece of spare parchment from her sideboard and frantically looked around. "Quill? D'you have a quill?"

"What do you mean dinner has to wait?"

"I have to get back to work, a horrible deadline, but I shouldn't be longer than another hour, just—do you have a bloody quill or not?"

"Well, this is just great," Ginny snapped, marching to her handbag for a quill and then shoving it at him. "If you had known about this deadline, why did you make plans with me? Why, Brian? I skipped dinner with my co-workers for you. In fact, forget it, I should still have time to meet up with them—"

"No, you can't," came his matter-of-fact voice as he bent over the worktop to scribble his note and Ginny lifted her brow.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you can, but only for an hour. I've something I need to discuss with you after I finish work."

"Erm, does it look like I care?"

"Right, where's the ruddy bird?"

"He's out. As I will be in about ten seconds, so you had better get on with it."

Brian threw down the quill. "Bloody _hell_, Ginny, can you just cooperate for once in your life? I have to get back to work before I get sacked. _This_—" He held up the piece of parchment, "—is a note to Sarah asking her to meet me at the coffee shop around ten, but before I do that, _you_ need to help me figure out how I can make my move without sending her running off in terror! Is that good enough for you?"

Ginny's jaw dropped. She stared at Brian, all spiky hair and wild blue eyes, looking stressed, but completely serious. Somewhere in the recess of her mind she realized what had happened: the bomb had exploded.

"No," she managed softly, her head shaking slowly, and the tempo of her voice increased as she stressed the word again. "No, no, _no_. There will be _no_ moves made on Sarah tonight, do you understand me, Brian? _No moves_. And _where_ is this coming from? I thought you said that you weren't going to _do_ anything about your feelings yet, I thought—"

"Well, I've changed my mind," he said in a clipped tone, folding his note. "So either you wait for me here or I do this without any input from you at all."

And he was gone with a pop.

At once her mind began to race through a series of possible scenarios, each more horrifying than the next until an image of Brian sending a lavish, meaningful wink to an appalled Sarah over coffee appeared in her head.

No, the bomb hadn't exploded, she thought, dragging herself to the kitchen even though she had lost her appetite. But the timer was ticking. As she pulled things together to fix herself a quick meal, she found herself glancing at the clock every three minutes, anxious for the hour to pass so that she could murder Brian and solve his problem altogether. Then there was a tap at the window.

"Oh, no."

Fuming that it might be Brian telling her that he was going to have a go with Sarah without any advice, she stormed into the living room to accept the post. Snapping open the parchment, she glared at the handwriting… but then everything inside of her went soft.

Sinking onto the sofa, Harry's voice filled her head as she read the familiar scrawl:

_Hey. How are you? I'm sorry I haven't been in touch. I wanted to but I just couldn't. I'll be home next week, though, for good. I was thinking that I would come over straight away. Will you be home Saturday the 5th, round eight or nine pm? Actually your answer probably won't reach me in time, so I suppose I'll just show up at your flat and hope you'll be there. See you then. Well, maybe. _

_Love, Harry_

She couldn't help it. She closed her eyes and all but hugged the letter to her chest. He was coming home and soon. Saturday the fifth was…_tonight_—

Her eyes flew open. Tonight. Tonight at – her eyes snapped to the clock as it turned to 8:07.

_Knock, knock_.

A strangled sound escaped her throat. She stood stock still for all of a minute and then snapped into action, scrambling across the living room, nearly knocking over her desk chair, calling out as she reached the knob and yanked. Her face all but fell to the ground.

"_Bonsier_!" Christian said cheerfully, then upon seeing her face, "Oh, no. Is this a bad time?"

The silence that rang out was so impolite that Ginny nearly shouted,

"N-no!"

Thoroughly embarrassed that she had all but frowned when she'd seen him standing at the door, she forced a bright smile.

"Of course it's not a bad time—"

"Are you expecting someone? I can go."

"Don't be silly," she rushed to say, pulling him by the arm into the apartment, her heart beating frantically. Her French wasn't perfect as it was, and with the added preoccupation, her questions came out in a jumble. "How was your trip? When did you get back? Any photographs?"

She was unable to stop herself from peering down the staircase to the entrance of the building before closing the door.

"One at a time, thanks," Christian said, laughing. "The trip was wonderful. I've only been back for one day, so there's been no time to get any photographs developed. Soon, though."

"Well, I'm still waiting on photos from your holiday in Spain, mind, and that was over a month ago," she said, smiling brightly up at him.

"Sorry. Things have been manic, as you can relate to."

"I certainly can," she said, gesturing towards the sofa, her eyes darting to the clock.

"Don't go to too much trouble," he said, watching as the bottle of wine she had Summoned uncorked and poured itself into a new glass and refilled her own. "I can tell you're in the middle of something, so I won't stay long. I just wanted to pop in and let you know I'm alive."

Ginny smiled as she handed him his glass. "You're certainly difficult to keep track of. Although I very much enjoyed the letter with that photograph of you standing next to that tilting tower—"

"The Leaning Tower of Pisa. I thought you'd like that."

Christian took a sip of his wine and Ginny studied him. He seemed leaner…even taller somehow. There was certainly something unrecognizable from the lonely barman she had become friends with several years ago.

But some things were the same, she noted. Physically, he was the same. His hair still curled at the back of his neck, his brown eyes still held an underlying calmness, and he sipped his wine with the exact care he had taught her the first time they had met.

"So," she muttered, wondering if she should come right out and ask, or if she should beat around the bush a bit more. She decided to be subtle. "Italy, eh?"

A spark of understanding crossed Christian's face and his smile turned a bit uneasy. "Yeah," he said, nodding his head slowly. "Italy."

There was silence as they both sipped their wine slowly and then Christian was the one who spoke. "I'm not going to say she wasn't a factor in my… decision to go there."

Ginny nodded, thinking about the letter she had received from Aurelie around a month ago, detailing her friend's marriage and move to Rome. Ginny had responded, of course, but not without the knowledge that her friendship with the reckless witch wasn't nearly as strong as it had been when they'd worked together.

"Did you see her?"

"No," he answered, and his eyes were completely unreadable now. "No, I… I hadn't decided if I would try to find her or if I should just… leave it, you know? But then… then something happened and I became… distracted."

There was a hint of a smile on his face that Ginny found intriguing. "What d'you mean, distracted?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, I had a run-in with some people… a group of American tourists in fact, and well, I took up with them for a while."

"American tourists?" she exclaimed. "With your very limited English?"

"And their non-existent French?" He laughed. "Yes, it was… laughable at times, but we managed."

"Mm-hmm," Ginny said, noting the bit of blush on his cheeks. "Was there, perhaps, a female witch who was rather taken with your romantic French accent?" She batted her eyelashes for effect and watched as Christian lifted a single brow.

"Well, that's the other thing. She's not … technically a witch."

Ginny blinked, then widened her eyes. "A muggle?"

"Yes," he said solemnly. "I toured Italy with a group of American muggles and had the best time of my entire life."

Laughing, she asked, "But there was a… a girl, then?"

Christian merely took a sip of his wine and avoided her pointed grin. "Good show," he said, gesturing his glass towards the bottle of wine.

Ginny grinned, "Right I'll allow one change of subject, but I reserve the right to return to it." She pointed to the wine. "I thought you would like that. I was thinking of you when I bought it. You know, you taught me everything I know about wine."

"And it only took you six years to put that knowledge to use."

She tossed her hair. "Yes, well, I'm trying to expand my horizons a bit, thanks."

"Here's to that," he said, lifting his glass, and she dutifully clinked hers to it.

_Knock, knock_.

It was a challenge not to spit out her wine, but Ginny managed to stay composed as both she and Christian glanced at the door. A look of understanding crossed Christian's face, and he made to set down his glass, but Ginny shook her head.

"You stay right where you are," she said, trying to control her pounding heart as she stepped to the door and reached for the knob.

Once again her anticipation fizzled, although this time it was due to the sight of a large amount of bushy hair and a big smile.

"Hi!" exclaimed Hermione. "I've fantastic news on the house-hunt! Are you almost ready for dinner?"

"Er," stammered Ginny as Hermione brushed her way inside, pulling off her raincoat.

"It's positively _dreadful_ at home. Rain for six days in a row. Hey, are we still going to your café, because I told Ron— oh."

Hermione stopped in her tracks upon noticing Christian, and it was at that moment that a horrible realization came over Ginny.

"Oh, Hermione. Oh, no. We were supposed to have dinner tonight, weren't we?"

There was a pause as Hermione looked from Christian to the bottle of wine on the table, then back to Ginny.

"Ginny, don't worry about it!" She exclaimed with an uncharacteristic, high-pitched giggle. "We arranged that – what? Two weeks ago? It's my fault, I should have reminded you."

There was an odd look on Hermione's face when she glanced back at Ginny, who peered at her curiously.

"Oh… well, I'll just…get out of your way," Hermione said hastily, sending a pink-cheeked smile towards Christian, and it was at that moment that Ginny realized exactly what Hermione was thinking.

"Please don't," Christian interjected in his thick accent. "My visit was entirely unexpected, I was just about to leave."

"Oh, no, that's okay…I…"

Hermione looked at Ginny with apologetic eyes as Christian stood up, but Ginny couldn't even meet them. Her sister-in-law thought she was on a date. What she didn't know was that the date Ginny had been waiting a decade for was on his way at that very moment.

And then, there was a third knock on the door.

"Oh, it's probably Ron," Hermione said quickly, taking it upon herself to open the door. "I told him to meet us when he finished up with work and—" She stopped in mid-sentence, gasped, then shrieked, "_Harry_?!"

Ginny closed her eyes as Christian's gaze flew to her.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione was saying as she threw her arms around Harry. "You're back for good, then? Are you okay? You don't look so good. Did you see Ron? Did he tell you to come here, because Ginny has plans, so we're not going to dinner anymore."

From the doorway, a disheveled and bewildered Harry glanced into the room and Ginny watched his eyes – as Hermione's had done - travel from Christian to the two glasses of wine to Ginny's own face where they stayed.

"Anyway, so we'll be going," Hermione said cheerfully, pulling her raincoat back on, and turning to Harry. "Ready?"

"Hermione," Ginny managed weakly, but couldn't say anything else before,

"Oi! What's going on?"

Yet another voice joined the fray, this one from the staircase behind Harry, a voice Ginny most certainly did not want to hear at that moment.

"Ruddy hell, mate, when did you get back?" Clapping him on the back and all but pushing Harry into the apartment, Ron slammed the door behind them and said, "Everyone ready for dinner?"

Hermione, however, looked startled at Ron's first query. "You two didn't see each other? Then Harry, how did you know…"

"I'm going to go," Christian whispered to Ginny as Hermione trailed off, her eyes bright and looking from Harry to Ginny with a suspicion that Ginny couldn't deal with. Christian glanced at her with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, matching his miserable smile. "I'll see you soon."

As Christian Disapparated, Ginny's eyes were pulled to the side and she saw that Harry had been watching the whispered goodbye she and Christian had exchanged. Suddenly, her stomach hurt.

"Hermione, leave him alone, who cares how he knew?" Ron exclaimed, tossing his work robes on the sofa and loosening his tie. "He's here, isn't he? Anyway, where are we eating? Nothing too French, remember what happened last time." He looked meaningfully from Ginny to Hermione with a screwed up face and a hand on his abdomen.

But Ginny had eyes only for Harry who was trying very hard to avoid hers. Hermione had been right in saying that he didn't look good. She could see it in his eyes… they were tired… and unstable.

She felt a tempting urge to take out her wand and bewitch her brother and sister-in-law to have the idea suddenly occur to them to go and de-gnome the Burrow's garden at that very moment. The urge became even stronger when Hermione added to the tension that she didn't know existed by exclaiming,

"Where did your date go, Ginny, that Christian? Did we scare him away?" Hermione asked innocently, looking slightly smug when Ginny threw her eyes to Harry, her face going completely red.

"What date?" Ron demanded.

"Christian is not my date!" Ginny exclaimed shrilly. "We're _friends_. He's been away in Italy meeting muggle girls and… and taking photographs in front of crooked towers and he came over to catch up, that's all!" Inspiration struck. "Harry, can I talk to you alone for a second?" She asked and didn't bother to wait for a response. She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him into the kitchen.

Standing alone in the tiny kitchen with him caused her to become quite aware of just how small her kitchen actually was. The heady realization that it was _Harry_ in front of her, the very same Harry who had kissed her and told her that he wanted her not four short weeks ago, caused every little nerve ending in her body to react. She became instantly grateful that she had hung some drapery in the kitchen doorway, as an artistic means for a door, as the curtain closed behind them in a woosh. For a moment she couldn't speak… and then the words seemed to tumble out of her.

"I'm sorry. Harry, I'm so sorry. I know showing up here to a bunch of people is the last thing you probably wanted. But I only got your letter today, in fact, not even an hour ago and people just kept showing up! I forgot that Hermione and I had plans, and she told Ron to come, and before that was Christian, and he only stopped by because he's back from quite a long holiday, and—"

Ginny's breath caught in throat, her words frozen when Harry lifted his eyes to hers. She was locked into the glow of the green for a moment before he took a careful step towards her and lifted his hand to touch her cheek..

"'S'okay," he mumbled on a deep, tired sigh. "I know."

Ginny closed her eyes, not even trying to control the acceleration of her heart. _You're the only one I wanted to see tonight_, she added to herself, but knew that her voice would fail her if she tried to speak.

As though all the chaos from the other room had come to a halt, she and Harry stayed quite still for a moment. Ginny reached up to stroke the back of his hand and their fingers automatically twined together, his knuckles brushing her cheekbone.

"Are you all right?" she mumbled, staring up into his eyes.

"Yeah… I'm all right." His voice was low but reassuring. "Just exhausted. It's been a long week."

She flexed her fingers in his. "So…should we tell the pair of them to sod off and go home?"

A smile flashed across his face, sending a spreading warmth through her. "We can just… Disapparate," he suggested in a low mutter.

"Mmm, I like that better. Where should we go?"

Something playful came into his eyes, something slightly removed from the tension she'd sensed in him moments ago. "That bridge was nice."

The memory of that bridge seemed to reflect in their gaze. It happened so fast she barely had time to react. There was a spark in his eyes a split second before he abruptly grabbed her by the face and kissed her fully on the mouth.

She felt the storm brewing the moment it started, felt the tension from him pour into her. And she forgot that there were other people in the apartment or that there were other people in the world. Surely, the only thing that mattered anywhere was that Harry was in her kitchen, and that he was kissing her like he would never stop.

Then something happened to shatter everything. There was a popping sound, and a great weight, and suddenly there were three people inhabiting the kitchen instead of two.

Ginny stumbled against Harry. After a momentary pause in which all parties became aware of what had happened, and before she could even manage to extract herself from Harry's embrace, she managed only to squeak out a horrified,

"_Brian_!?"

But Brian didn't seem to see her at all. He was looking at Harry and his eyes held a deadly sort of look that rendered Ginny momentarily speechless.

"Hey, what are you two doing in there?" Called a fourth voice, a voice that sounded way too close to the curtain.

"Ron, I said let them _be_!" Hermione hissed.

But Ron didn't pay Hermione any mind and three became five in a space that was meant only for one.

"Oh, for the love of—Brian," Ginny said, turning to him and gripping his sleeve. "We'll talk about this later, okay—"

"No," came Brian's voice in a reckless tone that she recognized with full out panic. "I'd like to hear what the _hell_ you think you're doing snogging this piece of scum—"

"Sorry?" Harry's single, clipped word cut through Brian's rant and overlapped both Hermione's gasp and Ron's demand of, "_SNOGGING_?!"

"But what actually needs explaining is why you've invaded Ginny's privacy and Apparated directly into this apartment," Harry bit out.

"I've more of a right to be here than you," Brian said, looking directly above Ginny's head into Harry's face and the violence in both pairs of eyes seemed palpable as Brian spat, "What the _hell_ are you trying to do to her?"

Ginny's heart took a painful dip. "_Brian_—"

"No." It was Harry who cut her off. "Let him say what he wants, Ginny."

"Perhaps we should all just sit down and talk," said Hermione in a feeble voice.

"Perhaps Potter and I should take this outside."

"If that's the case, then you'll see me out there, too," snarled Ron, glaring at Brian, and Ginny groaned.

"Nobody is going outside, _please_, Bri—"

"I haven't heard an explanation yet, Ginny."

Ron looked between Brian, Harry and Ginny with a torn, apprehensive look on his face. "I'd… rather like to hear one myself," he grumbled and Ginny very nearly exploded.

"It is nobody's business," she screeched, "what Harry and I do in my kitchen—"

"And when he messes you around again, and your friends are the ones picking up the pieces, who's business will it be then, eh, love?"

Brian kept his eyes level on Harry's as he asked Ginny the question, but Ginny's own eyes slammed shut. For a moment there was silence as Brian's words seemed to reach them all and when Ginny opened her eyes, she saw that her brother was looking at Harry with wary curiosity.

"Look, nobody is messing anyone around," Harry said, and although he still sounded angry, there was something like a plea in his voice. "I'm not… I don't… I'm not trying to hurt her—"

"Harry, you do not have to say anything."

Ginny turned to Brian, fully ready to let him have it. But when he looked back at her, their years of friendship seemed to stare from his furious eyes and she found herself at a loss for words. Brian had seen her at the absolute lowest time of her life, and all he knew was that Harry had been the cause. How could she be angry when all he wanted was to protect her?

The decision, however, was taken out of her hands when a very small, very curious voice from behind the curtain said,

"Ginny?"

Everyone turned as the fabric was drawn back and a pair of bright gray eyes peered in.

"Sarah! It's Sarah! Hi, Sarah!" shrieked Hermione.

Sarah smiled brightly at Hermione. "I heard your voices, so I just came in when nobody answered my knock," she explained, looking around the kitchen at the five occupants. As her eyes moved from Brian to Harry to Ginny standing between them, her smile began to slowly falter. "Is… this a… bad time?"

"No, you've come at a brilliant time," Ginny declared, whirling around to face Brian with sudden excitement. "Brian was just looking for you, Sarah."

Brian quickly met Ginny's gaze and his eyes narrowed slowly.

"Right… er…I got your letter, Brian, about the coffee house," Sarah explained, still appearing hesitant. "I came by to ask Ginny if she wanted to join us. I hear they have live music on the weekends, I thought it might be…erm…fun…."

Brian turned then, looking past everyone, directly at Sarah, and an entirely different level of tension rose in the room. He stared at her for a long time, and then, without warning, he gave a very dry and very rude laugh.

"You wanted Ginny to join us, did you?" he said loudly, shaking his head. "Figures… bloody figures."

"My, Ginny's popular today," said Ron.

"I'm not up for it anymore, Sarah, sorry," Brian bit out.

"Stop it." The words Ginny threw at Brian were both cold and narrowed, much like her gaze. She knew that look in his eye, the look she had once seen quite often on his face and she had despised it then. It was the Brian from Paris, who would turn into an arrogant bastard in order to brush off a woman he was tired of. She would be damned if Brian used that towards Sarah, who had done absolutely nothing to deserve it."You and Sarah planned to have coffee and I think you should - _just like you planned_."

"I don't want to have anything with Sarah like I planned, Ginny, so just back off!" Brian shouted.

"Hey—" Harry and Ron started to say together, but Ginny yelled at Brian,

"Oh, I see! You can butt _your_ nose into _my_ life, but I can't help you with yours, is it?"

"You're not trying to help me, you're trying to get rid of me!" He bellowed. "Well, I'll do it for you!"

But Ginny was too fast for him. Feeling suddenly reckless, she retorted loudly,

"Sarah, Brian has something he wants to tell you."

Murder – pure, thunderous murder - crossed Brian's face.

"Ron and I should be going," Hermione said, voice trembling.

"Not on your life, it's just getting good."

"I have learned," Ginny said loudly, "that in life, you have to be honest with yourself and with the people you love. Otherwise you can't truly be happy. Harry and I are finally being honest with each other and I think everyone here could learn a lesson from us and start doing the same!"

The tense silence in the kitchen tightened even more…until Ron broke through.

"So does that mean that you two are… that you've…what does that mean exactly?"

"Oh, for the love of—" exclaimed Hermione with a dramatic sigh. "You _still_ haven't gained a damn clue, have you? How is that possible, Ron? _How_?"

"WHAT?!" Ron's bellow was the loudest yet and it shook the walls. "All I'm saying is they ruddy well need to explain what the bloody hell is going on! '_Harry and I are being honest with each other._' What in sodding hell is that supposed to mean?"

As Hermione and Ron argued, Ginny felt herself being pushed against Harry again and realized that Brian was squeezing through the kitchen, a sort of panic on his face as the curtain Sarah had been holding fell back.

"Oh, God."

Instantly regretting her impulsive speech, Ginny realized that she had just single-handedly done what Brian had been walking on eggshells around Sarah for months to prevent.

"Go on," said a voice near her ear. She lifted her eyes to Harry, who nodded toward the curtain. "Go after them."

Looking at him gave her a surge of happiness she knew she didn't deserve. "D'you have any time-turners on you, perchance?" She asked desperately, and felt a slight thrill when the corner of his mouth lifted.

"Fresh out, sorry."

"What good are you?"

It was unbelievable that she could smile at a time like this. It was Harry, all Harry, she decided, aware that she was going to hell for flirting when her actions, mere seconds ago, might be the reason for Sarah getting hurt and Brian's imminent suicide.

"Don't go anywhere, okay?" She asked him, and their eyes locked when her body pressed helplessly against his to pass. Trying not to focus too much on her tingling flesh and elbowing Ron in the ribs, Ginny pushed her way through the curtain and hurried to the doorway.

It was dark in the stairway as she plundered down the three flights, and her thoughts were pulled in so many directions that she didn't see the building's ghost, the Duke of Poldark, floating on the second landing until it was too late.

"Oh!" She exclaimed, whirling around after running right through him in her haste. "I didn't see you, sorry!"

The ghost called after her, in a stiff voice, "You will address me properly, or not at all, miss, and might I add that it is highly irregular for a lady to charge down the stairs like a stampeding Hippogriff, no matter what her royal status!"

"You're right, it won't happen again!" she called from the bottom landing, hastily adding, "Your Grace," before throwing herself out into warm summer air.

She didn't know what she had been expecting – perhaps a crying Sarah or a hanging Brian – but there was none of that. There was only Brian, and he stood like a lost little boy, staring down at Ginny's killer dragon flowers as though he wanted to offer himself up as dinner.

"Where's Sarah?" Ginny asked breathlessly, looking around, still shivering from her all too close encounter with the Duke.

Brian barely looked at her as he muttered, "Home."

"Oh, no." Ginny closed her eyes. "Oh, Bri. Look, you have to go after her. Tell her everything, tell her—"

"You don't understand, Ginny—"

"No, I do understand!" she exclaimed, grabbing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at her. "I understand better than _any_one. Look, Bri, right before I made the final decision to come back to Paris, Harry and I had a talk. And I told him everything. Everything that was in my heart. And he came to me a month ago and… and he and I would _never_ be in the place we are now if I hadn't been open with him after all those years. You have to trust me on this – she will never truly see you if you're not honest with her."

There was a momentary pause where Brian appeared torn between shoving her away or pulling out his own hair.

"You really don't understand," he said in a strained voice. "She's not home for good, she went home to change her bloody shoes. And she'll be back in three seconds and I have no _goddamn _idea what to do now that you've blurted out your stupid 'everyone needs to love each other' speech—"

"It's be _honest_ with each other, not—wait, why is she changing her shoes?"

The look Brian gave her caused Ginny to take a physical step back. "She is changing her shoes," he said between his teeth, "because we are going for a walk in Muggle Paris and the shoes she's wearing _now_ are not _conducive to bloody walking!_"

Ginny blinked twice. "So then… then you're going for a walk! Well, that's brilliant, you can carry on with the plan!"

"What plan, Ginny?" he asked in a desperate voice, grabbing her arms and giving her a hard shake. "Do you remember coming up with a plan tonight, because I sure as hell don't!"

Chewing on her lip, Ginny ignored the blinding pain where his hands gripped and studied him. "You don't need my help, you've got this covered."

For a moment, it seemed as though Brian had lost all manner of speech, and then he bit out, "Really? You didn't feel like that earlier."

Ginny chose to ignore this. "Why Muggle Paris? How did that come up?"

Brian let go of her to pinch the bridge of his nose, and he said to his fingers,

"When I asked her to go for a walk, instead of a simple yes or no, she gave me a list of every tourist spot in the city that she hasn't seen yet – that is, before she decided that the sandals she was wearing are more of a _picnic_ shoe than a walking shoe."

Ginny found herself smiling. "She's nervous."

"No kidding," he retorted, sending her a look that suggested it was all her fault.

"Well, it's not necessarily a bad thing that you make her nervous, you know."

"Whatever. You and I will have this out later – all of this," he added meaningfully, and she knew he was talking about Harry.

Ginny crossed her arms and merely smiled. "I love you, you do know that?"

"Shut it, will you, I'm not in the mood." His eyes narrowed suddenly as he studied her. "So that's why you've been acting differently."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been different these past few weeks. It's because of him, isn't it?"

She said nothing for a moment, and then, "Want to know a secret?"

"No."

"I always thought that you and I would end up together."

It had been worth blurting it out, she decided, for the pure shock value that registered on his face, even though it was mingled with a frustration born from her abrupt change of subject.

"What?" he asked edgily.

"You may think I've gone mad," she said honestly. "But it's true. In my most completely sane and rational thoughts, I use to assume that once I truly got Harry out of my system and you finally got… those millions of other girls out of _your_ system, that we would… you know…." Wanting him to lighten up a bit, she lifted her eyebrows suggestively. "You know."

But Brian's face looked about as light as a boulder. He must really be stressed, she decided, for him not to take advantage of her flirting.

"Why are you so shocked?" she exclaimed, hitting his shoulder. "We lived together for more than four years, we're best friends and I _know_ you're aware of our amazing chemistry."

And then it happened. The light came into his blue eyes. There was a pause, and he said, in a low voice, "We do sort of… sizzle, don't we?"

Ginny burst out laughing. "Well, whatever you want to call it is fine. But don't go getting any ideas. I'm taken now."

Brian studied her. "Are you then?" he asked, the apprehension reappearing on his face.

"Yeah," she said softly. "And you can't protect me, Bri, not from this."

He looked torn between wanting to press the matter or continue their light flirting when, once again, Sarah's voice changed everything.

"Um… hello? Brian? Are you in there? I've Apparated outside the gate and I can't unlock it. I should just Apparate in, hang on, I'll be right there—"

"I'm coming, Sarah!" he shouted, grabbing Ginny by the arm and hurtling her towards the building.

"I'm going, I'm going," she said, tripping up the stairs. "Good luck!" she called in a whisper, then hurried inside at the look he gave her.

There was no sign of the duke's glowing form floating inside the stairwell as she made her way up, but when she turned on the second landing to climb the last flight, her eyes were met with something that might as well have been a white light.

"Hi," she said, her voice changing into that soft, girly sound that only he could warrant.

"Hi." Was it her imagination, or did his voice go softer as well?

She looked around. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"I told them to get the hell out."

A nervous giggle escaped her. So they were alone once and for all. There was very little room on the step where he sat but that was even more incentive for her to close the distance between them and sink down next to him. She felt his body react; he turned a bit towards her.

"Did you really tell them to get the hell out?" she asked after a while, turning to look at him. He met her gaze with a sideways shift of his eyes.

"In… so many words."

She matched his smirk. "I imagine it was the first time Hermione obliged you without any hassle?"

"Well, I think she approves of you."

The affection in his voice warmed her. She thought about the last time she had been in a stairwell alone with Harry. At the Halloween party, they had sat together in much of the same darkness, but it hadn't been so quiet then, with the party going on. Ginny also remembered that Hermione had come in after he'd Disapparated, and begged her to talk to Harry about his depression. Something about that memory, perhaps the emptiness she'd been left with at having to refuse Hermione over and over again, caused her to push slightly closer to Harry.

"Ron's going to be a pain in the arse for a while," he said.

She managed a smile. "Well… did we really expect any differently?"

Harry laughed. Ginny felt the vibration in his shoulders.

"I'm afraid the same is true for Brian," she muttered. "Are you upset by what he said?" she asked quietly when he stiffened beside her.

He shrugged but Ginny knew better from the way he tensed again at the mention of him.

"I suppose it's my fault. I've never really spoken to him… about you. He's had to sort of… put some things together and form his own version of what happened between us. All he really had to go on is…well, how devastated I was after I left your house that night—"

"The subject of me never came up when you lived in Paris?"

It was an abrupt question, one that wouldn't have taken her by surprise had it not been for the edge in his voice.

"No," she said honestly, shame welling up again. "No, it didn't, not until… not until I told him that I was interviewing you."

It was like speaking about another life, those days in Paris, but suddenly, vibrantly, it came back to her like a vivid dream, causing her to realize just how deep the wounds from Harry really were.

"That was quite the conversation," she said, trying to inject a light note, even though her voice sounded strained to her own ears. "All of a sudden, you were in town and you were my friend and Brian was clueless as usual—"

"Can you get past it, Ginny?"

She was confused, at first by his query and then by his angry tone. She paused for a moment before asking, "Get past—?"

"This!" he exclaimed. "All of this! Apparently, I've caused you a lot of hurt in your life, even more than perhaps I've realized. I'm just wondering if I'm going to have to spend the rest of _my_ life trying to make you see that what I feel for you is real!"

Ginny stared at him soundlessly for a moment before demanding, "And just what have I done tonight to make you think that I can't get past it?"

He gave a dry laugh and said nothing. Ginny fumed.

"What?"

There was a pause and then he said, his voice low, "I'm just slightly concerned, that's all, to find you sharing wine with some bloke you snogged at the wedding."

His words were like a crushing blow. Stunned, she stared at him for a full minute before blurting out, horrified, "Some bloke I snogged at the wedding?" Her mind flew back to the goodbye kiss she and Christian had shared down at the lake. Had Harry… could he have possibly _seen_?

"Harry, that wasn't just some bloke."

He turned piercing eyes on her for what seemed like an eternity. "What do you mean?" he asked, and his voice sounded distant, as though it was stuck in his throat.

"Christian and I were friends when I moved here the first time – just _friends_. And then… well, when I came back, he was going through a difficult time and I… well, I stayed with him in his apartment at first and…"

Something tightened in Harry's jaw, and Ginny felt her heart freeze a bit.

"We… we did lean on each other for a while." Her voice felt stuck in her throat. "It was a… a comfort thing more than anything. We were there for each other. When you saw us at the wedding… we were… well, I suppose you could call it breaking up."

She twisted around to look into his eyes and waited for him to turn to her. "We're friends now… just friends…that's all."

His chest moved up and down slowly with a breath that was very controlled. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

"It's okay," Ginny whispered after a moment.

"Look, I didn't mean it the way I… I just… I had a lot of time to think this past month. There were things I didn't bring up that night in the Louvre… and then on your bridge… because I didn't want… I just wanted that night to be about us. I didn't want to ask you if there was someone else in your life, probably because I was afraid of the answer."

"And seeing Christian here caused you to think that… that I had been seeing him this whole time?" she asked, stung.

"No, no," he cut in. "I don't… I'm a git, Ginny, you know that."

She heaved a sigh. "You know your guilt trips always bore me, Harry."

He very nearly growled. "I know, I _know_. I probably shouldn't have come here tonight."

"I would have murdered you if you hadn't."

"I missed you."

A noise that was almost a purr came from the back of her throat. He was more than dangerous, she realized, to be able to wash away anything she was feeling with a mere three words. He made matters entirely worse by lifting his hand to stroke her cheek again, letting his fingertips slide into her hair.

"I'm paranoid," he muttered. "I feel like you're surrounded by blokes who want you and you'll realize that I'm not worth all the trouble and go for someone else."

His fingers were now twisted in her hair, brushing slow circles over her scalp, hypnotizing her. "I told you, Christian is—"

"Not only Christian."

The name he muttered next widened her eyes.

"I'm not mad for thinking it," he said, breaking the spell by letting his hand drop.

"No," she agreed after searching his eyes.

He looked startled. "I'm not?"

"Of course you're not. He's my best friend. He's overly protective. He likes to flirt with me in front of you—"

"I knew he did that on purpose," Harry cut in furiously.

"And you have no reason to trust that I won't go running off the next time I get scared," she whispered, realizing just how true it was.

His face fell. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is," she whispered, and linked her arm through his. "It's not your fault, though, not even close."

"It's not yours. I mean, if it were true," he added hastily.

She smiled and let her head fall against his shoulder. "We are beyond messed up, aren't we?"

"Not in some areas," he said, and she looked up from the lightness in his voice. To illustrate his point, he bent his head to kiss her. Moments later they were both breathless.

"There's the silver lining," she gasped as his nose grazed along the side of her jaw.

"I hate that he thinks he has more of a right to be here than I do," he muttered and the way his lower lip poked out stubbornly nearly sent her into a fit of giggles. Instead, she snuggled closer.

"I suppose I shouldn't complain," he went on in that same dull, pitiful voice, "it is completely my fault."

Ginny sighed. "What part about boring guilt trips don't you understand?"

"I know, I know. But it's a bit difficult when I'm about to get into bloody fistfights because of it."

"Nobody is getting into a fistfight. I am going to have a talk with Brian about his behavior."

She could literally hear his frown. "Don't. I can defend your honor."

A surprised giggle escaped her, but when he stayed silent, she lifted her head to look at him. "I know," she whispered, reaching up to turn his face to hers. "Harry. You cannot possible doubt how much I love you." She looked into his eyes with open abandon. "Nothing in my life compares to it. You _know _that."

"I do." His voice was constricted. There was a pause in which he seemed to gather his word. "That's just it. It's like I can't top it, what you've given me… like being in love with you isn't enough—"

Her heart froze in her chest.

"—and you'll realize that I don't match up and—"

"Harry."

His eyes sharpened on her tone of voice, which was sounded as though it was laden with some kind of torturous pain, even though the sweetest, most glorious elation was filling every particle of her being.

"What?" he asked in alarm.

But all she could do was stare at him, hearing his words repeat in her head again and again. _Like being in love with you isn't enough… in love with you… _

"I…"

He waited, his brow gathered.

It happened without reason or control. A shout of laughter rang from her chest. She threw her arms around him, pressed her mouth to his and kissed him with a reckless abandon that had his chest jerking with a laugh of his own. Soon, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and things went from laughing to turbulent in a matter of seconds.

"I think we should make a rule," she said breathlessly. "The first rule of our relationship."

He looked interested, if not slightly put-out that she had stopped kissing him.

"Seeing as though it's only the second official _day_ of our relationship and we've already managed to land ourselves in a comedy of errors that would confuse bloody Shakespeare–"

Harry snickered. "You and your muggle novels."

She grinned. "This is the rule: whenever one of us is being stupid, we need to tell the other."

He lifted a brow. "Is that it?"

"Yes. Agreed?"

He twined their hands together. "Agreed."

"Okay. Good. Because you were being stupid just then. When you said you wouldn't be enough for me." She leaned forward and touched her lips lightly to his, pressed her fingertips to his chest, and felt his heart race along with hers. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

He nodded slowly, his eyes roaming over her face in a way that made her head feel giddy.

"Is it my turn then?"

Her brow lifted. "Careful."

He grinned. "Hey, I didn't make the rule, I just agreed to it." He looked down at their joined hands. "When you thought I made a mistake when I said I was in love with you."

The words pierced her heart again. Her hand contracted in his. He lifted their locked hands and pressed his lips to her knuckles, his eyes steadily holding hers.

"Stupid?" she asked, unable to stop the tears from springing into her eyes.

"Very," he confirmed.

She didn't say what she had the ugly urge to say. That it was impossible for him to _know _that he loved her when they hadn't spent any time together as a couple, and that the connection they had shared throughout their lives might not necessarily _mean _that he was in love with her. She didn't say those things because she knew in her heart of hearts that she wouldn't believe herself if she did.

What she and Harry shared had no rules. It followed no pattern like Ron and Hermione, or even Sarah and Brian. It just… was. It had always been there and it always would be. It would fight away all the monsters and ghosts, all the leftover insecurities, and any comedy of errors that would happen to fall upon them. It was more real than anything else in the world. It was more than enough.

It was everything.

The End

A/N: Right, I couldn't do it, people. I just couldn't write Fred and George in here. This fic has been friggin A/U for like eighteen years, but it just felt _wrong_ to write an alive Fred and a two-eared George. So just know that they live on in the realm of Seeking Ginny as they were pre-DH, and if you need a fix, go back and read the Halloween chapter. Maybe I'll do that now. Sigh.

Also… I used one of Ginny's lines in here, borrowed from Deathly Hallows, in tribute to the "real" Harry and Ginny. The best thing about a love story is that you are left craving for more, and I am of the opinion that Rowling did not disappoint with our pair. ;)

Thanks for reading, everyone.


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